Infamy's Daughter
by Midwinter's-Night-Dream-86
Summary: She was young, too young to fend for herself by herself in the wide world of Tamriel, but in the end, whether it meant her life or death, she did. Artanis Felagund has never been to Valenwood, but she is prepared to go down in history as one of her most infamous daughters. Spans from 4E 162 to the start of the Companions' questline and covers the Great War.
1. Daughter of the Blackwood

_The Daughter of the Blackwood_

If the world beyond the chapel walls took any notice of the tiny orange elfling who came screaming into the world, fussy and as fiery as her already vibrant ginger hair, it gave no sign. The priests of Zenithar, the elderly healer in particular, remembered it as the most difficult elven birth they had ever seen. The elfling's parents, in turn, remembered, with mixed joy and sadness, that this was the third time they'd done this, and the first time they'd get to take their child home.

Home. For Gwedhanar Felagund and his wife, Ruinil, home was a small two roomed cottage amongst several similar houses in a northern corner of the town of Leyawiin. It was not the ancient forest of Valenwood where he had grown and it didn't have the fair hills and airy woodlands of Wayrest where she was raised, but it was Leyawiin, and that's where Artanis Felagund came into the world.

At one, the tiny elfling was already babbling, incoherently at most times and intelligible only to her parents at others. Everything was new and fascinating when looked upon by the bright amber eyes of the small wood elf. And, more often than not, it was also something that she had gotten into her fluffy ginger head to put into her mouth.

Her 'terrible twos' (as Mrs. Next Door told Ruinil) would be really terrible. Really, they were actually quite scary, too. The tiny elfling, unable to climb on to beds, chairs, or couches, began pulling and tugging until the cushions upset or something fell, only to shatter or bounce on the floor or to be caught when one of her parents made a quick dive for it. It was also at that time that her teeth all came in: sharp pointed Bosmer teeth, used for tearing at meat. Artanis used hers for nibbling at everything in sight, including her mother.

When she turned three, the tiny elfling seemed to grow upward at last, finally towering some two feet above the ground. And that was the end of her bondage. Artanis was everywhere! She climbed on top of furniture, into window sills, over fences, and up most of the trees within the walls of the city. Of course she'd stopped tugging on things, but her parents didn't really notice when they were chasing after her.

About the time she was four, her mother seemed to get ill and very soon both Ruinil and Gwedhanar began to ask Artanis if she'd like a baby brother or sister, to which she'd firmly nod each time. "Some of the other kids in Sundas School have little brothers and sisters and some of them have older brothers and sisters," she told her father, trying to sound as grown up as Mama did when she said Mama things, even if they made Papa laugh. "And some of them," she went on, "have an older and a younger brother and sister!" Her father didn't laugh when she said that; he only looked kinda sad.

But Artanis Felagund proved to be a caring child grown from a miracle baby. When Sercion came home, smaller than even Artanis was, the tiny elfling took very great care with him. If her parents attention was now divided unevenly in favor of her brother, she didn't seem to mind. She was always watching and talking and singing and playing with her brother and when he was napping (and she was meant to, too, but she didn't) she'd tell her mother all the curious things she knew about him.

Sometime after she'd turned five though ("This many, Papa!" She'd exclaimed on her birthday, holding up one hand with all the fingers out. "Imma whole hand, Mama!"), her brother seemed to get sick. Artanis noticed. And she fretted. Quite soon, both Bosmer elflings were ill. Gwedhanar found a Restoration healer from the Imperial City. The healer instantly took care of Artanis, who simply rolled over and began to snore thunderously in her cot. Sercion, on the other hand...

"You've said Artanis is your only child to survive passed infancy," the healer said, speaking to Gwedhanar and Ruinil in the front room. "And she's developing quite well, even with her small stature. Sercion, though, troubles me. He is exceptionally small, even for a wood elf, and you say he's always crying and seldom sleeps at night when in his cradle."

The next morning, Artanis woke up and found herself in her father's arms in the back of a wagon heading for the Imperial City. Mama sat across from them with Sercion in her arms and the healer sat near the end of their bench, flipping through a book.

It took a while, Artanis wasn't sure how long exactly, for them to get there. The great bridge was nearly on the other side of the city and it took them several hours to get there by the south road. All the while, the tiny elfling looked on in wonder as they rounded the lake. The spiraling tower rose high above the world and the white stones shone like the diamonds that the Countess wore in her hair.

"Papa," she whispered.

"Yes, little garland?"

"I'm gonna climb up to the tippy top of that tower someday."

Gwedhanar only smiled wanly at his daughter before looking back at the passing landscape.

They arrived in the Imperial City late in the day when the sun had already fallen halfway behind the hills and forest of the Colovian West. Gwedhanar and Ruinil rented a room in one of the inns while the healer returned to the Temple of the One. "To speak with the Master Healer on what to do," he'd explained before leaving the family of Bosmer in the inn's common room.

Artanis' father had been raised traditionally in Valenwood, following the Green Pack just like every homegrown Bosmer. He hadn't tasted vegetation before meeting Ruinil, who had grown up far away from both Valenwood and Leyawiin in the great city of Wayrest and had eaten a variety of plants all her life. She was in Valenwood simply because her grandfather, the patriarch of her mother's clan, had passed into the Green and her mother's brothers has summoned his descendants from all over Tamriel home to the forest for the ceremonies to honor a Bosmer Elder. Gwedhanar was a member of the same tribe, though of a different clan, and had been quite taken with the strange, Breton like wood elf who seemed so out of place in the woods.

He refused to go to Wayrest, which stood in the north of Iliac Bay several hundred miles from Valenwood. Ruinil, in turn, refused to stay in the ancient forests. The customs were foreign and the people strange. They compromised and chose one of the southern cities Cyrodiil. Twenty years and a few hundred salads and steaks later brought the couple to Leyawiin.

It was no surprise, then, that Ruinil, who had grown up attending the Chapel of Akatosh in Wayrest, took the children to the healers in the Temple of the One the next day. Gwedhanar had only been in a chapel for the Divines some seven times: once for the joining of he and Ruinil in the eyes of the Empire; four times for the births of each of their children; twice for the private services for the two who died. He remained in the inn when they left.

Ruinil took Artanis and Sercion to the Temple of the One early in the morning. Once there, Artanis found herself in the hands of one of the young acolytes as the healer from the day before and the Master Restorationist took both mother and baby back into a private room.

The acolyte didn't have much trouble with the tiny elfling. When they'd first entered and she'd seen the great statue, Artanis seemed almost transfixed. She wandered closer until she was leaning up again the place where, in centuries passed, the Dragonfires had burned. She seemed so intent on the statue that the young acolyte turned back to putting oil in the fire brackets and left her.

"Hello sweetie." Artanis turned around so quickly that her ginger pig tails whipped around her face. A few yards away stood a lady in a long white dress with lotus blossoms tucked into her long red braid and a bouquet of the same flowers clasped in her hands. The lady smiled, making her crystal blue eyes sparkle, and she came and knelt down next to the tiny elfling. "Where's your mummy, sweetheart?"

"Mama and Siri went with the healer cause Siri is sick and Mama and Papa don't know why," Artanis explained almost solemnly. The lady nodded before brushing a loose strand of dark red hair behind a pointed ear. "Are you a wood elf too? I'm a wood elf!"

The lady smiled again. "High elf, sweetie; my grandmother was from Summerset."

Artanis frowned. She wasn't sure what Summerset was or why the elven lady was a high elf instead of a wood elf, but she was very pretty and seemed awfully nice, so Artanis decided that she liked her.

"Okay," the tiny elfling nodded. She then peered at the bouquet. "Are you giving those to your hus...husband? Mama said sometimes merry people give each other flowers."

"I think you mean married, little one, but no, I'm not. These," she continued, straightening up and turning to the statue, "are for-"

"The dragon!" Artanis exclaimed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down.

"Why, very right you are!" The elven lady replied, giving the tiny elfling a proud smile. "I come here once a week to place flowers at the feet of the dragon," she told her, placing the bouquet of lotus a little ways away from other tributes of flowers and gold and food.

"Why?"

"Well, because-"

"Child!" The acolyte suddenly appeared, gathering up Artanis in his arms before turning an apologetic and somewhat shy smile to the elven lady. "My apologies, Miss Erling, I didn't mean for her to bother you."

The lady, Miss Erling, it seemed, didn't smile quite as freely and kindly to the acolyte. "She wasn't a bother, Filius."

Filius' cheeks turned scarlet. "Of course, ma'am." He seemed almost to lull as he stared at her before starting, remembering himself. "Yes! Yes, of course. We shall leave you to it, then."

Miss Erling wiggled her fingers at Artanis as she waved back from Filius' arms as the young man walked away. The elfling giggled as she watched the high elf turn and kneel next to the statue.

"What's her name?" Asked Artanis once they had entered the temple's small library.

"Elanor Erling," the acolyte told her wistfully. "She's worked in the book shop for nearly ten years and every week she brings a bouquet of lotus to the Avatar of Akatosh." Filius continued talking, but Artanis had lost interest.

It was several hours later when Ruinil came into the library to find Artanis flipping through a book of the fauna found in Morrowind. The elfling continuously giggled between oh's and aw's as she examined the strange, insect like creatures. When her mother kneeled before her, Artanis looked up.

"Mama, where's Siri gone?"

"Come on, my little tree bough," Ruinil said, ignoring her daughter's question. "We need to go back to Papa at the inn."

"But Mama-"

"Hush, my darling garland," her mother chided softly as she lifted the tiny elfling up into her arms.

"Mistress Felagund!" Filius the Acolyte exclaimed, hurrying over. "Where is your son? Is he well now? I'm sure Master-"

"No, no, Sercion is dead," Ruinil said coolly. At her words, Artanis turned green and began to shake her ginger head violently. "We will be leaving now," she told the stunned Imperial.

"Mama!" Artanis cried. She couldn't grasp her mother's strange coldness at the mention of her brother; how she could simply accept that he was dead. But when they arrived at the inn and she, clambering away from her mother, had rushed forward to her father and told him the horrid news, he had merely laughed and ruffled her already messy hair.

When they returned home to Leyawiin, everyone seemed to look at them sadly and half of them offered half sincere apologies and a few gave heartfelt condolences. Yet Gwedhanar and Ruinil Felagund seemed oblivious to the fact that they had just lost their son. They still coddled Artanis, who tried for months to make them remember Sercion and his ginger peach fuzz and coal like eyes with their strange bright leafy green irises and his giggle like the bells during New Life, but to no avail.

Artanis was six when she stopped trying to bring Sercion into every conversation. A few months later she stopped mentioning him all together. Her father began taking her into the Blackwood surrounding Leyawiin, teaching her about her heritage as a Bosmer of Valenwood and how Y'ffre gave them the Green Pact.

"The forests of Cyrodiil aren't as old as those in Valenwood. They are not sacred to our people, Arty, and that is why you have been raised to take whatever you liked from them. You can pick an apple and eat it here and it doesn't matter to anyone, but never take from the woodlands of our native province like that. To break the Green Pack like that in Valenwood would result in a punishment worse than any the Empire could inflict."

When she turned seven, it was time for school. Everyday, Morndas through Fredas, she'd join the other children of Leyawiin in going to the school house at eight in the morning. Nearly every afternoon her father would teach her how to fight with and tend to daggers. Her mother tried to teach her how to cook, but Artanis could never grasp it or sewing or any form of needlework. She did, however, find soap and candle making a skill within her grasp. As long as her mother watched over her, of course. Her eighth year went much the same as she learned to read and write and how to maneuver through the forest.

It was in 171 of the Fourth Era, nearly three full months after Artanis turned nine, that the war between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion began. It didn't seem to touch Leyawiin as it did the western cites like Anvil or Kvatch, but the boys talked of learning to fight the 'elven dogs' and many of the men and a few of the women left to bolster the Imperial Legions. It didn't seem to effect Artanis as much as it did the other children at school. Many of their fathers had gone to lend Emperor Titus II their swords and those that didn't seemed to either be making them or training with them.

Then the summons came from the Dominion.

The entire Felagund household had been tight lipped and somewhat distant since the start of the war. Near the start of winter, however, a messenger came from Ruinil's uncle, their tribe's chieftain, to call Gwedhanar to join them under the Aldmeri Dominion's banner. They could remain quiet no longer.

"They don't need you!" Ruinil screamed, her face red from crying. "You've lived in the Empire for nearly thirty years! I've been an Imperial citizen my whole life! You can't betray the Emperor like this!"

"I am not betraying Titus Mede, Ruinil. Why can't you see that I am going only to protect our homeland from the Legion and their march of destruction?" Gwedhanar pleaded softly.

"They're fighting in Colovia and Hammerfell, Gweth! They aren't anywhere near Valenwood! Quit being such a bloody nationalist and think about your home and your family! What about me? Or your daughter? Are you going to leave her fatherless because you went off to fight her schoolmates' fathers? Men who have been our neighbors for years?"

"You read what Galadhion sent! I will be protecting the borders so that the ways into Valenwood are barred to any who wish to enter. The Legion isn't interested in invading the forests because they're too busy defending the Empire from Alinor; but in the event that they head south, someone needs to block them," Gwedhanar attempted to explain.

They had many arguments like this over the course of the week, most of which Artanis was witness to. She never said anything when they argued; she had long since stopped trying to make them believe half of the things she said. She could get the schoolchildren to believe anything she wanted them to. Selkies in Topal Bay? Faeries in the Blackwood? An ogre in the Countess' powder room? The court wizard being part Nirnroot? They drank it up. Her parents? Not so much.

It was on the 1st of Morning Star of 172, scant hours after the beginning of the new year, that her father left. The sky was still dark and full of stars when the three Bosmer made their way to the dock gate. Ruinil cried silently as she hugged her husband farewell. Artanis, in comparison, seemed quite stoic. Gwedhanar embraced Ruinil gently, murmuring numerous low words into her ear before kissing her there, on her cheek, nose, and lingering lastly on her lips. They touched foreheads before pulling slowly away from each other and turning to Artanis.

There was roughly a difference of two feet between father and daughter; Gwedhanar being rather tall for a wood elf and Artanis being just shy of four feet. The elder wood elf knelt down before his ginger headed child, who gazed tiredly at him with dull amber eyes.

"You'll take care of your mother, little garland, while I'm gone?" He asked softly. Artanis only nodded. Gwedhanar sighed before gathering her to his chest. "You are the most wondrous gift we could have ever been given, Artanis Galadhriel," he whispered into her soft ginger hair. "You're very brave and loyal and one day you will be a great leader. You just need to relax a little bit, you graht-oak." He pulled away and gently gripped her by the shoulders, giving her a sad little smile.

Artanis slowly smiled in return. "I love you Papa," she said, betraying herself with a sniffle.

"And I you," Gwedhanar said as he stood up. "Both of you." He placed a hand on Ruinil's cheek for a moment before pulling away. She sighed sadly then.

"Take care of yourself, please Gweth," she said, pulling Artanis into her side and giving her husband a pleading look.

"Of course I will Rue!" Gwedhanar gave them both another smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll be back ere long; this war shouldn't last beyond the summer!"

And then he was gone.

"Will it?" Artanis asked softly, pressing herself into her mother's side.

Ruinil didn't say anything for a long while, only hugging her daughter all the tighter. After a long while, she spoke. "The war, my darling, is because the pride of man will not bow to the dominion of elves. It will be long and bloody, because both are quite powerful and stubborn and unyielding. Your father will be gone far longer than he believes."

Artanis was quiet then, thinking on her mother's words.

It didn't take long for word to spread around Leyawiin that Gwedhanar Felagund had left to join the Aldmeri Dominion. Everyone who had once been their neighbors and friends swiftly turned to taunting them, belittling them, and even threatening them. Soon Artanis was no longer welcome in school and Ruinil could scarcely go to market without having her basket stolen or she herself being kicked down; not to mention that the merchants and shop keepers would barely look at or even sell to her.

Scarcely two weeks had passed after Gwedhanar had left when the Dominion came suddenly from the west out of Elsweyr. They marched upon the gates Leyawiin, their gold and glass armor and golden skin contrasting heavily with the bleak winter landscape of the woods and swamps of the surrounding country side. They quickly forced their way into the city; the fighting didn't last long after that. There were few left to defend County Leyawiin from the elven forces and soon the Count and Countess were disposed of, replaced with a military governor.

Most of the men were gone or dead and mothers were left to bow to the elves as their children quaked in fear. Artanis herself was mostly left alone while her mother was made to serve their governor in Castle Leyawiin. She didn't know what her mother did there, other than bring the governor his dinner and clean his chambers, but Ruinil seemed to grow paler and quieter by the week.

Artanis didn't know how the people of Leyawiin managed to survive, but for a while they did. The Thalmor had implemented a curfew over the town: no one was to be out before dawn or after dusk, and the people, begrudgingly, followed it. All of the houses were searched and everyone's weapons were confiscated. Anyone found to have one in their possession after the search would be punished by the Aldmeri Dominion. Both Artanis and Ruinil looked on sadly when they took Gwedhanar's spare bow and other small weapons that he hadn't taken with him.

Things were very dark and bleak in the town where light and color had once reigned. The days and weeks bled into each other until spring looked just like fall and summer like winter. They didn't have any news from the rest of Cyrodiil, or anywhere for that matter, and hope seemed utterly lost.

Artanis spent her tenth birthday watching the ships of the Aldmeri Dominion's naval force sail up into the Niben from Topal Bay.

"Where are they going, Mama?" She asked that evening when Ruinil came in.

"To the Imperial City, I fear," her mother sighed. "Bravil has fallen and they're going to try at taking the island by sea now."

A year to the day that Gwedhanar Felagund had left for Valenwood, news came that Lord Naarifin, leader of the Dominion's army in Cyrodiil, had brought them to the very walls of the Imperial City. More soldiers from Alinor poured into the town of Leyawiin to bolster the forces trying to take the whole of the Niben. Ruinil theorized for a curious Artanis that there was likely resistance from Cheydinhal and the Legion in the Imperial City preventing them from gaining total control. "Though I fear," she went on, "that that won't last for long."

Over the spring and summer of 173, Artanis began going to the castle with her mother. She refused to stay home alone all day and Ruinil had nowhere else to put her. After ordering Artanis to stay where she put her, the not so tiny elfling found herself in the castle gardens in the mornings and the kitchens in the afternoons, rarly seeing her mother.

One summer day, shortly after Artanis' eleventh birthday, she'd been ordered by one of the kitchen maids, a Breton girl who had grown quite scornful of the little Bosmer's supposed 'free reign of terror,' to take the high interrogator and the governor tea. "And don't just set it down and leave! Serve it to them!" She'd screeched. Artanis, her short body fitted in to a too long dress, made quite the awkward picture walking slowly to the Countess' sitting room.

One of the Dominion guards opened the door at her tentative knock. Artanis glanced up to see crystal blue eyes before bobbing her head nervously and carrying the tea tray to the table that stood between the chairs of the governor and high interrogator in front of the fireplace.

"I believe we'll have the city taken by this time next year," the high interrogator, a graceful Altmer woman with golden hair and dark eyes, was saying while gesturing languidly for Artanis to put cream into her tea.

"So long, Elenwen?" Governor Alfakyn asked absently, watching Artanis shakily pour up the hot liquid.

"These things take time, my Lord," Elenwen replied, gracefully taking the crystal tea cup from the small wood elf.

Alfakyn only nodded, still watching Artanis.

"Will that be all, my Lord?" She whispered, thoroughly regretting ever going into the kitchens that afternoon.

"Tell me," Alfakyn began, "is your mother called Ruinil?"

Artanis nodded shyly, wondering where her mother, who served the governor personally, was.

"I see," he said. He set his tea cup down. "Come here."

Artanis, with fear burning like a raging fire in her heart, came to stand before the governor. Alfakyn took one of her loose ginger locks between his fingers and examined it. "You look very much like your mother."

"Th-thank you..." Artanis paused, "my Lord."

The governor's eyes darted from the ginger hair woven between his fingers to the heart shaped face and upturned nose of the wood elf before him.

"Tell me, for I believe I don't know, whatever happened to your father?"

"My... Father?" Artanis repeated, not expecting the question. "He... Mama's uncle called him back to Valenwood to...to..."

"Yes?" Alfakyn pressed, placing the strand of hair behind Artanis' leaf like ear and running his hand down to her elbow.

Artanis did not like him, nor did she like the strange interest he seemed to have in her parents. "He's gone to protect the borders, my Lord. He meant to return last summer, but he hasn't come back yet."

"Hmm," was Alfakyn's only reply as he ran his hand down to Artanis' wrist.

"My Lord Governor," Elenwen said, watching him interact with the child. "I do believe that the child should be sent back to her mother."

"What?" Alfakyn started slightly. "Ah yes, young one, you should go back to your mother. She is cleaning my chambers and you will find her there." Artanis quickly nodded, not wanting to remain with the man any longer. She quickly hurried to the door, which the guard from before had opened. "Tell her to meet me in my study within the hour, if you will child," the governor called after her.

"If I may, my Lord," Artanis heard the guard say after the door was closed. She pressed herself against the wall, trying to calm down her burning fears and wondering why the soft lilt of the elven woman's accent was familiar.

"I'm in a generous mood Vilya; go on."

The was a pause before she spoke again. "My Lord, why did you question the elfling about her parents?"

"I will admit to also being curious, my Lord Alfakyn," came the haughty voice of Elenwen.

"Ruinil is a lovely specimen, quite unlike her barbaric kin in Valenwood. I needed to make sure her husband was not returning."

Artanis' eyes opened wide. Her Papa...her Papa...

"Do you truly intend...?" Came Elenwen's inquisitive question.

"Oh yes," Alfakyn went on as Artanis darted silently down the hall, unable and unwilling to hear anymore.

She quickly found her mother, who was just exiting Lord Alfakyn's chambers looking uneasy, one arm wrapped around herself while the other held the laundry basket full of dirty towels and sheets to her side. When Ruinil saw her jumpy little daughter, she quickly put the basket down before Artanis barreled into her arms.

"My little garland! Whatever is wrong?" Ruinil asked, hugging her daughter. They were near in height, now, Ruinil only being five feet tall and Artanis being just over four.

"Mama," the eleven year old said hurriedly. "Mama, Lord Alfakyn was asking after you and...and about Papa!"

Ruinil's already pale complexion grew as white as a sheet. "Artanis..."

"And - and he wants you to meet him in his study within the hour!" Artanis went on. "He wanted to make sure Papa wasn't coming back!"

Her mother pushed her away and gripped her shoulders with a force Artanis didn't know her mother was capable of. She looked into her mother's frenzied amber eyes, her own wide and more fearful than ever before.

"Mama-"

"Artanis, go wait in the tree next to the pond. Stay hidden there until I come for you!"

"Mama-"

"Artanis Galadhriel! Promise me you won't let anyone see you!" Ruinil demanded, shaking her terrified child.

"I - I promise, Mama!"

Ruinil quickly hugged Artanis to her before pushing her away again. "I love you, remember that!" She called softly as Artanis set off running.

Artanis waited in the highest boughs of the tree for what felt like hours. It was twilight when she saw her mother walk down the path from the castle towards their small house. She almost made to follow when Ruinil glanced at the tree, shook her head, and continued on her way.

Part of her wanted to follow after her mother anyway, despite the promise she'd made. After several minutes of debate, Artanis was about to get of the tree when she suddenly saw two Dominion soldiers and Lord Alfakyn walking down the same path her mother had taken some twenty minutes before. Artanis scurried back into place just as they passed by and made their way to her house. Lord Alfakyn left the two soldiers standing outside the door and he entered alone.

It was dark when the quiet of world changed. Artanis had been dozing lightly when suddenly the smell of smoke invaded her nostrils and she started, nearly falling from her perch. When she came to herself, she quickly realized that her house was glowing.

Glowing...with an angry crimson fire.

With a cry of dismay, the little Bosmer scrambled down the tree, skinning her hands and knees on the bark all the way down. She tumbled on to the ground before darting toward her house, screaming.

"Mama! Mama!" She screeched at the top of her lungs. A crowd of spectators had begun to form nearby and Dominion soldiers were everywhere, trying to control the populace. "Mama!" Artanis screamed again when suddenly someone grabbed her from behind.

"Stop! Child, stop!" The guard, Vilya, commanded, pulling the elfling to her.

Artanis began to fight all the harder but her struggles were useless against the golden glass armor. "Let go of me, you monster! Let go! MAMA!"

Vilya continued to hold Artanis back as the house continued to burn and several of the surrounding buildings caught fire.

Many of the wooden structures within Leyawiin burned down in the early morning hours of the 10th of Last Seed in 173. Many people took refuge in the Great Chapel of Zenithar or in the stone buildings built into the city walls while the fire raged and the Thalmor wizards went about putting it out. Many people died and their ashes were cast into the Topal Sea by the survivors in the coming weeks as Leyawiin was rebuilt to mimic Altmeri architecture. With that and the news that came later that Lord Naarifin had completely surrounded all but the north side of the Imperial City, all hope seemed lost to the remnants of the people of the Blackwood region.

Artanis woke up the next morning in a corner of the chapel. She was confused and disoriented as she looked around in fear at her unfamiliar surroundings before she remembered. She sat in her corner, recalling the events of the previous evening and how the guard Vilya had put her within the chapel doorway before rushing off, shouting orders to the frenzied people and accompanying a group into the burning shell that had once been the Felagund household.

She frowned. The guard's blue eyes and lilting accent had seemed familiar, but she was sure she didn't know her. And she'd kept her from her mother! Her mother, who was probably dead because of Lord Alfakyn.

Sniffling, Artanis clambered to her feet and made her way toward the doors of the chapel.

"Artanis Felagund! Where do you think you're going?"

The elfling turned, her hand on the door. Behind her stood one of the priests of Zenithar, a basket of bandages in his arms as he looked down at her in reproof.

"Brother Marthus, do you know if my Mama is all right?" She asked, turning fully to face him with an eager look in her amber eyes.

The Imperial man shook his head, setting his load against the wall and approaching the child slowly. "They pulled the bodies of her and the governor from the wreckage, but I don't believe either of them survived." His heart broke for the little Bosmer when a look of hopelessness swept over her small, ash smudged face. "Artanis...I'm sorry."

The Bosmer only shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, before she yanked the door open and darted out into the hazy air.

"Artanis! Artanis!" Brother Marthus called after her and giving chase, but she didn't stop running.

The gates to the city were opened, a rare occurrence in the last few years, but Artanis payed them no mind. She darted through them, ignoring the calls of the Dominion soldiers who joined Brother Marthus in pursuing her.

They didn't look for her long. The Blackwood had been her playground throughout her childhood and she knew how to lose them by taking to the tree tops. Artanis refused to go back. She had to keep running. She needed to keep running.

And so she ran.

 _ **Disclaimer: anything that you don't recognize is mine, e.g. Artanis, her family, etc. The Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda, though the interpretations of events are technically mine and theirs.**_

 **Author's Note: Infamy's Daughter is meant to chronicle the life of Artanis Felagund, my Bosmer, through her beginnings in Leyawiin to when she makes her way to Skyrim and joins the Companions. It takes me a while to write each part, though I've been putting off uploading Daughter of the Blackwood so that there'd be less time between it and the second part, the Road to Cheydinhal.**

 **Please review. Believe me when I say they're a real help whenever my muse is getting bleh and taciturn.**

 **Oh, and if you're wondering, I've taken my names for wood elves from the RealElvish website. Tolkien is very helpful.**


	2. The Road to Cheydinhal

"The first night away from home is sometimes the worst."

That's what her mother had always told her, and now that she was away from home - perhaps for forever - her words rang in her head like the chapel bells on Sundas. She sniffed, recalling her mother, who'd been burnt up by that horrible monster Alfakyn. "I hate him!" she sobbed. "I hate him! I HATE HIM!"

Artanis dissolved into tears, curling into a tight ball in the boughs of a willow tree. The sounds of crying seemed to echo throughout the quiet of the Blackwood, though the small elfling didn't seem to notice. Mama was dead, Papa was gone, Leyawiin was lost, and she was alone.

After what felt like ages and ages, the wood elf's sobbing finally petered off into wet sniffles and she began to take in her surroundings. The woods had grown dark with the shadows of early evening; faint sunlight peaked through the tree canopy, making weird shapes in the lowlight. Artanis shivered, hugging herself. She was alone and very much lost.

An owl screeched nearby, breaking the silence. Artanis screamed and flung her arms around the trunk of her tree, shaking as more tears ran down her ash smudged cheeks.

"It was only an owl," she told herself. "Only an owl, like the stuffed one in the shop, only-" the bird let out another cry, swooping through the branches of the willow tree; Artanis gulped, "-alive."

Sniffling, the small elfling pushed herself against the tree trunk. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping for sleep to claim her.

When it did, her dreams were filled with fire and her mother's screams. Of monstrous high elves and blue eyed women who blocked her path. Those images haunted her all night. Several times Artanis cried out in her sleep, unintelligible babble mingled with sobs. But when she finally woke up, she remembered none of them.

Which was probably for the best.

The dark trees of the Blackwood didn't seem much different either in the morning or the evening. Weird shadows played along the ground made by sparse light from the sky; Artanis quickly decided that she didn't want to stay there by herself. With Mama or Papa nearby, the Blackwood was a fun place; by herself, however, it seemed far too big and far too dark.

Hugging her willow tree one last time, Artanis slipped down the trunk and began walking. She figured if she could get to Cheydinhal, maybe somebody would help her. With what, the elfling wasn't quite sure, but she did know she probably needed whatever help was given. After all, she was an orphan now and orphans need love and help; that's what Mama always said and Mama was always right.

What little Artanis didn't know was that she was several days journey on foot away from the city. Situated in the foothills of the Valus Mountains, Cheydinhal was a reflection of dark elven culture in the Imperial province; far different from Leyawiin, which straddled a stretch of swampy land between Elsweyr and Black Marsh, the homes of the beast races of Tamriel. But Cheydinhal was the last city of eastern Cyrodiil not taken by her mother's killers and she was determined to get there. All she needed to do was head north.

Heading north, it turned out, wasn't as straight forward as it sounded. Under the cover of the trees, it was hard to see the sun or the moons or anything in the sky. But she didn't want to venture near the waters of the Niben; the shores were crawling with Dominion soldiers and she didn't want to meet another one of them for as long as she lived! So she tried climbing the trees and watching the sun cut its path across the sky. She tried going by the treetops instead of by ground. But she either got disoriented and changed direction, or she couldn't get from one limb to another.

Her traveling plans didn't account for being hungry, either. Normally Mama had fed her, so she wasn't used to feeding herself. When her tummy first started rumbling, she'd tried nibbling on one of the green mushrooms, only to spit it out when its icky taste made her muscles feel funny. After that, Artanis decided that mushrooms weren't her thing.

With tummy rumbling, the little Bosmer rambled on through the dense woods, occasionally stumbling into muddy puddles and getting caught in brambles.

A full forty eight hours after fleeing the remains of Leyawiin, Artanis Felagund collapsed to the ground, thoroughly spent.

"How do heroes do it?" she muttered to herself. Her tummy hurt, her head ached, and she felt sick. "When their home gets destroyed and they leave and they're all alone in the world and...how..." Artanis trailed off. Her eyes felt grimy and everything had gone blurry. She needed...needed...

The elfling fell into a fitful sleep, curled up in a pile of mushrooms and swamp plants.

Not long after Artanis slipped off, there came a rustling noise in the nearby brush. Four yellow eyes peered from within the foliage to stare at the supine form of the tiny Bosmer. ''I do not like this," hissed a voice. "We go out foraging and find more dead elves!"

"Quiet Gol-sia!" Came a deeper growl. "It is not dead, see? Do you see how the chest rises and falls?"

"Yes, yes, Bron-shay," the first voice replied dismissively.

A pair of Argonians then emerged from the brush and approached the elfling curiously. The larger of the two, Bron-shay, crouched down next to the elfling. "The elves seldom leave their offspring alone so young," he mused to his sister. The carnelian Argonian hissed at him dismissively. "Here one is, alone and young and sick, by Seth!"

"Leave her then," Gol-Sia snapped, shaking her feathered head. "What use is another mouth to feed when we cannot even fill our own at present? And what do you know about sick elves?"

Bron-shay hesitated, and looked between his sister and the form of the tiny elf thoughtfully. "I do not know how we will feed her, nor do I know how to take care of her, but one so small could not need that much food...and you know Uncle can probably tend to her ills."

Gol-sia glared at her brother.

"It is what Father would have done," he ventured slowly.

"Fine!" the female Argonian huffed, throwing her hands in the air. "But you are feeding your scavenger and Uncle is helping you! I will not take care of your messes!"

Rising to his feet with the little elf nestled in his arms, Bron-shay rolled a pair of yellow reptilian eyes dismissively. "Yes, yes, so you say. Come, let us return to camp."

Artanis woke up several hours later with a headache. It took her several minutes to realize that she was no longer under the dark trees of the Blackwood; she was swathed under a blanket of woven bullrushes, which was surprisingly soft for something made out of a prickly plant. Upon further examination of her surroundings, Artanis found a fire burning in a ring of stones set in a dirt pit. She stared at it, dazed, for several long moments before recognition clicked in her mind and she let out a terrified scream.

There was movement off to the side as two Argonians scurried toward her. The younger pulled the wood elf into a sitting position as the other one watched her. After a moment, he sat down, blocking her view of the fire, and snapped his clawed fingers between her eyes.

The Bosmer started and gasped before looking fearfully between the two Argonians.

"There, there little one," Bron-shay said, patting Artanis' matted ginger hair comfortingly.

The older Argonian stared unblinkingly at Artanis, who wiggled self-consciously under his gaze.

"I am Bron-shay," said Argonian went on, oblivious to the weird staring contest going on between his uncle and the wood elf. "We took you from the Blackwood. Where are your parents, little one?"

"M-my...pa-parents?" Artanis stuttered, turning suddenly to look at the younger Argonian. "They...he...there was a fire and - and he killed Mama. He killed my Mama!" she cried as tears began to well once more in her eyes.

The two male Argonians looked at each other, both in thought. They both wondered silently if the elfling had seen her father attack her mother. It would explain her frightened reaction to the small fire they had for their camp.

"Gol-sia," the uncle, Nelgos, began, looking over his shoulder at his niece. Gol-sia sat on the other side of the fire, turning a large swamp rat on the spit. "Gol-sia!" he snapped louder when she didn't acknowledge him. After a moment, she looked up at him and blinked rather owlishly in silence. "Put out the fire."

"But Uncle-" the female Argonian cried in protest.

"Do so now, Gol-sia," Nelgos told her firmly, giving her a withering look.

Admonished, she threw several handfuls of dirt into the crackling flames, but not before she'd moved the half cooked swamp rat away.

"What is your name, little one?" Bron-shay asked as he continued to pet the ginger hair of Artanis, who he'd pulled into his lap.

"Ar...Ar...ty...Arty," she sniffled, fidgeting uncomfortably. Of course there'd been a few people from Black Marsh in Leyawiin, though according to her old school teacher, there'd been many more hundreds of years before. The ones she did know made her nervous. They reminded her very much of the gecko that used to live on the back wall of the Felagund cottage, and that had always scared her. Now she was in the midst of a camp of lizard people, one of whom clearly did not like her. Artanis wasn't sure what to do.

"Arty," Nelgos hissed. The little elf winced at the way his tongue flicked on the last syllable. "Could you tell me how you ended up so far away from any settlements in the woods?"

The tiny elf looked down at her hands, twisted together in her lap. They were dirty and smudged with ash and filth from the damp woods; she wasn't sure what the rest of her body looked like, but she imagined that she kinda resembled her grubby little hands. Peaking up at the old blue green Argonian shyly, she wondered...wondered if maybe, just possibly, she could get them to take her to Cheydinhal. After a few minutes of fidgeting, the elfling began:

"I...I'm from Leyawiin, you know, the city that sits at the head of Topal Bay," she explained, shakily at first. She took a deep breath before continuing. "The Dominion, the elves from the Summerset Isles...they came and they took over the city and Mama had to go work for the governor and he...he..." Artanis trailed off as the tears slipped down her face. "Sh-she's g-gone now and, and I ran into the woods."

Nelgos sat back and stared off in thought. He was aware of the Aldmeri Dominion's campaign up the Niben, taking Leyawiin and Bravil as they moved into the Cyrodilic Heartlands, but he hadn't known they were killing their own kin in the process. Now, looking down at the small elf perched on his nephew's lap, covered in ash and dirt and leaves and looking more miserable than anything else he'd ever seen, the old Argonian wondered just how far the high elves were willing to go in their bid for domination. Silently, he retrieved a small sponge and a flask of water and took them back to the elfling. She watched him wet the sponge before he handed it to her. "Here, you must wash the grime from your face," he told her. Artanis merely nodded, sniffling, and began to scrub her cheeks.

Bron-shay watched her for several long moments before turning to his uncle. A wordless conversation passed between them, and Nelgos finally nodded to Bron-shay's curious look. He then turned to Gol-sia, who was nibbling at her partially roasted rat. He watched her; she looked rather childish and ridiculous the way she was hunched over, guarding the cooked vermin like a child guards his sweetmeat.

"Gol-sia," he said at length, startling his niece. She nearly knocked over the still standing spit in surprise. She steadied it before turning to glare slightly at her uncle.

"Yes?" she hissed, the scales on her neck flaring up in obvious frustration.

"We need one of your spare tunics; the child cannot go on in what she has on," Nelgos told her.

Gol-sia huffed. "Can we not just return her in what she is wearing?"

Nelgos shook his head, not at all amused with Gol-sia's selective hearing. "Her home is overrun with the elves of the west; she cannot go back, so we must take her north with us."

Even Gol-sia, who hadn't liked Artanis from the first, didn't like the idea of sending a child back into the arms of the Thalmor. The races of men were not the only ones effected by the high elven sorcerers. They had tried for a foothold in Black Marsh decades before, but their attempts at "ensnaring" the Argonian people had only resulted in anger and bloodshed. Even so, Gol-sia handed over a spare tunic rather begrudgingly. Nelgos gave her a look of reproof before returning to the wood elf's side. By then, Artanis had cleaned her face and arms and Bron-shay had succeeded in untangling most of her ginger tresses.

Nelgos handed the cloth shirt to Artanis once she had set aside the sponge. "You can go a little ways into the trees to change," he told her. The Bosmer nodded hurriedly before darting up and away into the cover of the woods.

Bron-shay watched the elfling go before standing up beside his uncle. "How far north are you willing to take her?" he wondered, having heard what he had told Gol-sia.

The older Argonian looked thoughtfully at the trees and tall grasses that surrounded the clearing where he and his family had made camp. After several silent minutes, he turned to face his nephew. "We may take her as far as the settlement on the banks of the Thir, or yet we may send her to a place for parentless children."

"We should ask her if she has any relations in the vicinity she can be taken to," Bron-shay suggested.

Gol-sia huffed, drawing the males attention to her. She gave them an exasperated look. "Would it not be easier just to leave her in one of the cities? The Cyrodiils have chapels for this reason."

Shaking his head, Nelgos sighed. "Even after many years, you have failed to learn the meaning of charity, my niece."

The female Argonian opened her mouth, as if to argue, but then closed it. After several moments, she spoke. "If I should seek the preservation of myself and my family over that of an elven street urchin, than-"

Artanis reemerged at that moment, and Gol-sia snapped her jaws closed, choosing to simply glare at the oblivious little elfling.

The tunic seemed to swamp her small frame, hanging off more like a blanket than a dress. In her hands, Artanis held tightly to her ruined dress, the one her Mama had promised to adjust when she had more thread. But that was now impossible. Artanis sniffed and took a deep breath before venturing closer toward the three Argonians. She smiled shyly before sitting down on the bullrush blanket she'd used earlier.

"Here," Nelgos said, turning his back to his niece and offering his hand to Artanis. "Let me see that."

The elfling hesitated before slowly handing the garment over. Nelgos examined it for a minute or so before he began to fold it, occasionally teared it, and twisted it until it resembled a thick woven sash rather than a dress. He then handed it back to a stunned Artanis. "Tie this about your waist; it will hold the tunic so that you are more comfortable."

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly as she did as instructed.

Bron-shay reached over and helped her when she began to fumble with the knot. He then turned to his uncle. "When will we leave?"

The aged Argonian watched the Bosmer and his family for a few minutes before nodding to himself. "Tonight."

Artanis looked between the three Argonians: the kind one, the wise one, and the mean one. She then looked at herself thoughtfully, then looked back up. "Where are we going?"

"We have relatives who live in central Morrowind," Bron-shay explained good naturedly. "We are journeying up there to dwell in their settlement."

The wood elf's lips formed an 'o' as she nodded. "What about me? Am I to go with you?"

She needed them to get her to Cheydinhal. She'd tried on her own and had failed miserably; now, these Argonians were her only hope.

The two males looked at each other silently. The minds of elves were something they did not easily fathom. The way the youngest of them all could seem wiser, perhaps, than even one of their elders was something that many an Argonian found unsettling. Upon reflection, they did not truly know how old this Bosmer was, only that she appeared to be maybe six or seven by the reckoning of men.

"Do you have any family that we may contact for you?" Bron-shay asked after a moment.

Artanis looked down thoughtfully. She had a whole family, her parents had told her, an entire family of aunts, uncles, cousins, and more, all living together in a tribe in Valenwood, though a few of her mother's relations also lived in High Rock, far away north and west from Leyawiin. She knew all that, but that was as far as her knowledge went. Aside from a few names, like her Uncle Galadhion anx her grandmother Auroriel, she really knew nothing on how to contact any of them, especially now during the war.

Which brought the little elfling back to Cheydinhal. If she was going to be alone in any sense of the word, Cheydinhal was the place she needed to be alone in. But if she told the Argonians, kind to her though they may be, they wouldn't leave her there by herself. Well, except maybe Gol-sia, but even she wouldn't get away with that. They wouldn't be able to send her to the orphan home in the Imperial City, so they would end up taking her to Morrowind with them. Artanis couldn't go to faraway, foreign Morrowind, she couldn't!

She would have to lie, then.

The Bosmer shifted uncomfortably. Her parents had always told her not to lie, especially to adults. But her parents had never imagined that they'd leave their only child alone like they had, and desperate times called for desperate measures, or so she'd heard, and this time she was indeed desperate.

Her reflections lasted only a minute before she looked back to the Argonian males, a solemn expression on her little tanned face.

"My aunt is a priestess in the Chapal of Arkay in Cheydinhal," she said slowly. "She...she keeps the chapel crypt..."

"The priests trust a Bosmer cannible around their dead?" Gol-sia cut in, sneering at the small elf who once again looked down.

"Gol-sia!" Nelgos rounded on her as quickly as any viper would have. Flaps of poison colored skin flared off of his neck, making his head look twice, if not three times larger than normal. He began hissing and clicking his jaws at Gol-sia, who quickly backed away and scuttled off into the undergrowth.

After several long minutes of Nelgos glaring at Gol-sia's vanishing point, he turned back to his nephew and Artanis, his great crown having fallen back in place, invisible against the scales of his neck. "Your aunt is the keeper of the dead in the city of Cheydinhal," he reiterated shortly.

"Y-yes," Artanis stuttered, feeling rather startled by the vicious display.

"Then we will take you to the city," Bron-shay assured her, uneasy himself after witnessing his uncle and sister clash heads once again. "Will your aunt expect you?"

Artanis looked between Bron-shay and Nelgos, mind racing, before she finally answered. "She...she does the funeral rights, in the name of Arkay and stuff, and...and she probably isn't there because of the war, but she will be soon and so...so..."

"I see," Nelgos mused absently after Artanis trailed off. "We shall simply leave you at the chapel gates, then, if she is not there."

Artanis let out a short breath that she hadn't even known she'd been holding. She nodded silently in reply to the two Argonians before looking around their small camp. She suddenly felt tired and heavy, her skin hot and splotchy even after her wash. She looked up at Bron-shay, who knelt back down in front of her.

"Now what do I do?" She asked him wearily, sounding far older than her eleven years.

Bron-shay smiled at her, vaguely reminding the elfling of a crocodile she'd seen once while out boating with her parents. He gestured toward the bedroll of woven bullrushes where Artanis had woken up an hour or so before. "You should sleep while you can, little one; we will be leaving in a few short hours and you will need your energy."

Glancing at Nelgos proved that the elder Argonian was once again distracted, probably still too mad at Gol-sia to pay much attention to the others. Artanis then nodded silently to Bron-shay and hurried to nestle into the bedroll. She was so tired after everything that had happened that when she placed her head against the bullrushes, she fell asleep.

The Bosmer slept on for several hours and long after the sunset. It wasn't until a leaf fell in her face and tried to blow up her nose that she woke up.

Artanis started, quite disoriented and confused.

"Wha-"

"Careful little one," the voice of Bron-shay came from above her, and Artanis realized that the Argonian was carrying her through the woods. She looked around, but the land around her was covered in darkness. She could only just make out the figure of Nelgos walking ahead of them; she could not see Gol-sia either, though if noise was any indication, the dark red female was walking at the back of the small group.

"Where are we?" She asked quietly.

"We are still in the Blackwood, child. The Panther River is within a day's walk from here," Bron-shay explained softly.

Silence fell again, though by no means was the world around the small group quiet. With the sunlight gone, nocturnal animals left their nests and burrows. Artanis heard more than one owl swoop overhead, chasing after its prey. The noise of insects nearby and the screech of bats sent her turning her head in every direction from her perch in the Argonian's arms to see them. She had only seen a bat up close once when she was little. It had been living in their roof for months, though after Siri...

Artanis blinked, trying to remember what her brother had looked like. To the wood elf's horror, beyond ginger hair like hers and black and leafy green eyes, her lost brother seemed to die all over again. She turned and buried her head into the cloth covered scales of Bron-shay's shoulder. She didn't cry, but the ache in her heart seemed to mount higher than before.

The small group continued on. The Argonians preferred night travel, finding the day rather hot for a journey, though they thought those were the perfect conditions for sleep. Then there was Artanis, who was too short to walk without slowing the desired pace down drastically, though the elfling didn't seem to care about it much. She was too busy thinking about what she'd do when they arrived in the city of Cheydinhal. The fact that she'd managed to get them to believe her story of an aunt who didn't exist would have unnerved her only a week before. Now though, her parents and home were gone and she was raising herself.

The Argonians didn't want to enter the chapel, she knew that much, but they'd still ask after her "aunt." It was only a matter of time before they'd ask her for her name, even if she was ellegidly off tending to the Imperial Legion's dead.

It was then that a cold realization crept over the already aching Bosmer. She would have to abandon them before they reached Cheydinhal or else she'd be found out. Truthfully, Artanis didn't know what they'd do to her if they discovered her lying, but she knew she didn't want to see Bron-shay's crestfallen face, Nelgos' look of disappointment, or Gol-sia's smug "I Told You So" grin.

Artanis decided, as they sat on the banks of the Panther River boiling mudcrab meat and gazing off toward a distant Ayleid ruin, that she would disappear once she knew they were close to the eastern city.

Another two days passed, over which they crossed through the Nibenay Valley, situated between the Panther and Silverfish rivers. On the banks of the Silverfish was an old inn, the Bridge Inn, which had been been founded nearly two hundred years before as a rest stop for travelers coming to and from the Heartlands and the southeast of Cyrodiil. Now, in the recent years with the war, it had seen less use, though it had escaped the general notice of the Aldmeri Dominion, something that the few travelers in the province's eastern region were thankful for. The group stopped there, and the owner offered Artanis, who looked exceptionally horrible, the use of the baths in the basement. Gol-sia had to accompany her, though she didn't seem to mind overly much as it meant she could use one of the other tubs for herself.

They left early the next evening, trekking into the Nibenay Basin. The geography of the area was vastly different from the dark and swampy Blackwood the young elfling had called home. The vegetation was sparse; beyond the grass and trees and a few clusters of lavender, columbine, and a few other flowers, there wasn't much in the way of plants. The landscape looked different, illuminated by Masser and Secunda in a way she'd never seen before. Her own sign, the Warrior, glimmered high and bright above her in the heavens; the Eye of Warrior sparkled particularly bright at the head.

The Bosmer squeezed her eyes shut. Her mother had said that the Eye of the Warrior was also the planet of Akatosh, the Dragon God's aspect within the mortal planes. Mama had always been particularly devout toward Akatosh, though Papa had often scoffed at her stout devotion even after twenty something years of marriage. But her Mama insisted that the Eye had shown exceptionally bright the night of Artanis' birth. Artanis, her darling garland.

Sighing, she continued to stare off into the heavens as Bron-shay carried her steadily through the scarcely lit darkness.

Once the initial wonder of traversing the entirely new (to Arty anyway) Nibenay Basin had worn off, the small wood elf found the rest of the next three days extremely tedious. The land around her was unfamiliar, yet always the same, and she was almost ready scream in frustration and boredom.

Then, early in the morning on the third day out from the Bridge Inn and the Silverfish, they came upon a sharp bend where two rivers met together. The waters of the Reed went on for several miles north of the Corbolo, which emptied out into the Niben in the southwest, before it disappeared underground where it eventually flowed under Cheydinhal, providing water for the city's wells. The small group continued on at dusk that same day and sometime, several hours later, they came across a small farmhouse.

Both Gol-sia and Bron-shay stood back as Nelgos investigated the building. Artanis, standing beside the younger Argonian male, watched the elder curiously.

At last, Nelgos turned back to his family and the wood elf. "This building has been abandoned, though how long ago I cannot say. I can say, however, that the occupant was a witch." The old Argonian looked thoughtful as he said this, glancing back over his shoulder to look again into the dark windows of the small house.

Artanis shivered, whether from the night wind or Nelgos' words she couldn't say. "What kind of witch?" She ventured to ask.

"One that practiced magic," Gol-sia hissed.

Her uncle growled at her before turning to face the elfling pressing into his nephew's side. Said nephew was giving his sister an exasperated look that told her just how childish he thought she was. Gol-sia, in turn, ignored them both.

"There are many covens of witches throughout Tamriel, young one, and it would be foolish of me to attempt to tell you to which one exactly the witch who lived here belonged," Nelgos explained gently. "However..." He trailed off, stepping closer to where a crude, bird like form was scratched into the oak door. "Yes, we shall leave. This is no place for mortals."

"Uncle..."

"No, Bron-shay, it is not safe here," Nelgos said firmly. He then took Artanis by the hand and led them away from the farmhouse and northward once more.

Artanis looked back over her shoulder as they distanced themselves from the old house. Suddenly, a raven flew overhead and perched on the gable of the house; the young Bosmer blinked when it cocked its head to look at her. They stared at each other until Nelgos led his party around a cluster of trees and the house and bird vanished from view. Artanis turned to look ahead once more, wondering if the raven knew anything about the witch who had lived there.

A few short hours later, they reached the head of the Reed River; water gushed from underground and sped downstream passed several caves. Upon investigation, Bron-shay and Gol-sia discovered that none of them went beyond a few dozen yards below ground and they decided that if they had ever gone any further down, there was no visible sign of it now Soon after that, Gol-sia and Nelgos stretched out to sleep, absorbing the faint rays of the midmorning sunlight peaking over the Valus Mountains and shining down upon the Niben.

Artanis lay on her bullrush blanket, watching Bron-shay through half lidded eyes as the azure Argonian scratched markings into a piece of old wood with one of his claws.

They were within a day's easy walk to Cheydinhal, Nelgos had said when they had first set up their camp a hundred or so feet away from the river banks. It would not be long before the young elfling was safe with her aunt and they were on their way to Morrowind.

Except, she had no aunt, at least none who lived in Cheydinhal or even Cyrodiil, and they couldn't know that. After lying still for a long while, listening to her companions' steady breathing and the faint noises of nature, Artanis ventured to set her small plan into motion.

"Bron-shay," she whispered, catching the Argonian's attention, but not disturbing the sleeping pair.

"Yes, little one? What is wrong?" He asked gently.

The Bosmer hesitated for the briefest moment. Over the passed week, Bron-shay had been so nice to her; carrying her and helping her along the road. He was almost like the big brother she'd never had, and she didn't want to make him upset. But on the other hand, if they continued and they discovered her lie, she'd have to see him and Nelgos' looks of utter disappointment and mistrust and she couldn't face that, she couldn't! So Artanis decided to go through with her plan. It would cause less heartache, she was sure

"I need to go," she said simply.

The young Argonian stared at her for a good minute before realization dawned on him. "Oh yes, of course! Just go a little ways into the trees. Don't wander off too far."

Artanis nodded, standing up. As she walked passed Bron-shay, she stopped and turned toward him.

"Thank you," she said.

"Whatever for?" He asked in surprise.

The wood elf shrugged. "You know, for being a nice friend."

"Of...course..." Bron-shay nodded, slightly confused, as the elfling walked into the woods.

As she went, Artanis couldn't help but shed a few more silent tears over the kind group of Argonians she'd used to get away from Leyawiin and her past.

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own Bethesda or the Elder Scrolls, I assure you, just a handful of OCs as we are not yet to the point of Skyrim entry. Though players of Oblivion may recognize a character or two in chapter three.**_

 **EricLightscythe: First of all- that is a rather cool name. Secondly- thank you for the review! I've always intended Artanis to have a dark past and it shows very early on in her life. There is a fate that awaits my young Bosmer, you see. I've talked with several other Elder Scrolls writers (Evil-is-Relative is one, author of the marvelous Dragon Kin; Sharquelle, author of Aronansa, is another) and I've come to realize that, while people will read an interpretation of the ingame quests, it can be much more enjoyable for both writer and reader to go beyond that. That is what I'm trying to do.**


	3. The City on the River

_The City on the River_

Artanis Felagund would never describe herself as clever, but staging her own drowning had been a suddenly brilliant idea on her part, if a bit morbid. The Bosmer of Valenwood may be portrayed as happy, sunshine loving people throughout half of the rest of Tamriel, and they were! But even those who had never dwelled within their ancestral forest home had a dark flare for death.

A couple of pieces of cloth torn from her makeshift dress planted on a tree limb and a few strands of ginger hair caught on some low hanging branches to make it appear as if she'd gotten caught in them before the fall; scraping her knee on the rock so that it looked like she'd then hit her head, and her trap was set. It would look to the Argonians as if she'd been stooping over the river when her hair got caught and she began to struggle before slipping, hitting her head, and falling in. The rushing water would have then swept her body halfway down the Reed River where it would soon be lost to the Corbolo and then the Niben Bay, never to be found again.

It was a cruel, exceedingly cruel, thing to do, especially to people who had helped her like Nelgos, Bron-shay, and even Gol-sia had. But she couldn't let them take her in. She had to stay in Cyrodiil, even if there was a war going on.

The little wood elf climbed into a Cyprus tree hanging out over the water. Once safe in her perch, she let out a bloodcurdling scream before scrambling higher into the thick boughs.

Moments later, there was rustling in the brush as three Argonians burst out on the river bank.

"Arty!" Bron-shay called out, the blue in his scales darkening as he scurried worriedly along the bank.

Said wood elf bit her lip as she used the tatters of her dress to staunch the faint bleeding of her knee.

Nelgos scuttled along after his nephew, his dark green and blue scales making it harder to track his movement from her high perch. Gol-sia, meanwhile, looked around at the trees before her eyes landed on a Cyprus hanging over the river.

"By Seth..." She hissed, all pretences of hating the little Bosmer suddenly gone. "By Seth...Uncle! She fell in!"

"What?" Nelgos cried. Bron-shay didn't even speak. He darted toward the rushing water, ready to go in after the little elfling, only for his uncle and sister to grab him.

"Let go of me! It is my fault she fell, I have to rescue her!" He cried, struggling in vain against the vice grip the two other Argonians had on his arms. "Let go!"

"You cannot!" Nelgos yelled to be heard over his nephew's shouting and the roaring of the river. "She is lost, Bron-shay, the river has taken her! There is nothing you can do!"

Artanis buried her head in her arms, unable to keep watching the small family from Black Marsh mourn her.

"You do not understand!" Came Bron-shay's voice. "I let her go off alone and that is what killed her!" He paused for a moment, but Artanis did not look to see why. When he spoke again, it was in a low voice that no mortal being could hear unless they stood right next to him, though the keen ears of the wood elf managed to catch his words. "I did what I was meant to do...and for that I am sorry."

"Bron-shay-" Gol-sia started mournfully, but her brother abruptly cut her off.

"It is no use, sister, they get what they want in the end. You know this," the young male continued lowly.

A few silent seconds passed before, at last, Nelgos spoke, "so be it."

Then an eerie quiet fell over the area and, after several long minutes, Artanis dared to look down, only to find that the riverbank was utterly void of any life. She quickly nestled back against the tree to wait. For what exactly, she wasn't too sure. But after a while, at least until the sun had climbed overhead and had begun its afternoon descent into the west, she sat there in the quiet of the Niben Basin.

When the sun swept down below the western horizon, the little Bosmer moved at last. She stretched out, causing the skin of her scraped knee to prickle uncomfortably. Ignoring it, she silently shimmied down the side of the tree and, once settled on her feet, listened to her surroundings.

There was animal life in the surrounding woodlands, though it wasn't as loud or prominent as it had been further south. Farther away from civilization and hunters.

A tired smile spread across the small wood elf's face as she darted up and over the rocky ledges that hung over the river's underground entry; from there, she began darting from tree to tree like a young fawn, wary of what may lie in wait nearby. Soon she crested a hill where a great oak tree stood, towering above its neighbors. Artanis scaled its trunk and made her way into the high branches, where - yes! The famed Chapel of Arkay could be seen in the distance, at least a day away for the Bosmer on foot. The towering spirals were the most welcome thing she'd seen besides the Argonians since she'd left Leyawiin.

Artanis breathed a sigh of relief. She'd be okay, she'd have to fend for herself, but she wouldn't be stuck with the Aldmeri Dominion or in a whole other province. With that thought, the elfling quickly returned to the ground and scampered northward.

Later in life, she would look back on her choices as an elfling and wonder why she had so desperately wanted to stay in Cyrodiil. It only occurred to her much later that somewhere in her determination to get to - and stay in - Cheydinhal there had been some sort of deeply buried hope that her father would return for her and find her there. A hope that never came into fruition.

But there, some ten odd days since leaving the Blackwood, Artanis Felagund approached Cheydinhal's high southern wall and the lake that brushed against the stones. Tired, hungry, dirty, and alone, the elfling looked more like a street urchin than a child from a loving household.

Taking a deep breath, the Bosmer began to walk along the wall in search of the gate. The high stony walls were lighter in color than those surrounding Leyawiin; they were cleaner looking, too. The air smelled better, she realized after a moment; it smelled like flowers and grass and water, clear rushing water! There was no damp swamp smell lingering over everything and no slow going, murky river or bay where mosquitoes bred like mad during the summer. Artanis was feeling better about running away and lying already!

The gates were open and the little elf nearly sobbed with relief. Only a small gasp escaped, but it was enough to gain the attention of the watchmen guarding the entrance to the city.

The two watched the oblivious little Bosmer stare at the entrance. She looked rather like an animal in the dead of winter who ventured near a hunter's campfire, but never dared get close to feel the heat. After several long minutes, the elf finally scampered into the confines of the city and the two guards instantly exchanged a look. She was either going to die in the approaching winter and they'd have to dispose of her frozen remains, or she was going to survive and end up being a pain in their backsides.

"Ten septims says she makes it passed New Life," the one on the left coughed.

The one in the right looked at his fellow before nodding. "Twenty - and she doesn't."

"You're on," the first guard said. They began to laugh until a prim looking Breton woman passed behind them on her way through the market. Upon hearing their laughter, she turned approached them.

"What in the name of Mara has you laughing like that?" She demanded.

The watchmen exchanged an exasperated look that clearly said, "Here we go again," before turning back to the Breton, who stood with her basket tucked in the crook of one arm and the hand of the other against her hip, all punctuated by a frown.

"Did you see that wood elf?" One asked.

"Fargoth was in Darius' Merchandise, yes," she answered slowly. "Or do you mean Glarthin? I saw him at the chapel. You know Glorfin's death hit him hard-"

"He means the tiny gingery one that just ran through here," the other guard said, cutting her off.

The Breton, Maria Magnifae, stared at them. "You mean that wretched little street rat that all but dived into the Corbolo the moment she saw it? Of course I saw her! I dare say the whole market place did!"

The guardsmen burst out laughing again, much to Maria's increased aggravation. "She did? Stendarr's mercy!" The second guard, Vincentus, chuckled. His companion, Dorian, rolled his eyes.

Maria waited a moment for Vincentus to calm down before turning to the quieter Dorian. "The Watch is going to handle it, of course?"

"What ever do you mean?" Dorian asked with raised eyebrows.

She huffed. "You know very well what I mean! We cannot afford more mouths to feed in this city!"

"Do you suggest we cast her back out into the wilderness?" Vincentus asked in shock.

The two guards stared at her and Maria sighed. Anyone who dealt with Maria Magnifae knew her to be overbearing and an acute perfectionist, but under all that she really did really care for the well-being of others. If she didn't show it that well or often, there was no use in complaining. The Breton sighed again. "No, of course I don't think she should be cast out into the wilderness, but the city is on strict rations and we won't have anything else until the first of Hearthfire. You know-"

"Mrs. Magnifae," Dorian began. "Aren't you over thinking this? She's just a wretched little street rat, after all!"

Maria looked at him, aghast. "You know, there was a time when your impertinence would be punished-"

"You say that every week," Dorian scoffed under his breath.

"-but during this age of war and disharmony, I will refrain from reporting you to Captain Lux," Maria went on, ignoring the guard's muttering.

Vincentus rolled his eyes as Maria and Dorian continued back and forth. It was something they did nearly every market day if Dorian was posted around that district, and even when western and southern Cyrodiil were overran by the elves and Cheydinhal was shrouded in fear of invasion, they went at it like dogs over meat.

He was expecting their wedding announcement any month now, really.

The quiet watchman let his eyes wander, only to see Rythe Lythandus leave the mercantile shop. He sometimes wondered, whenever he saw the renowned painter, if it ever felt unsettling, being two hundred years old and seeing work he had done literally centuries before. But that was a part of being an elf, something the Imperial would thankfully never be faced with. Living so long that something you painted casually one day eventually becomes an ancient and priceless piece in the castle of a lord or count while you're still around and kicking.

He was broken out of his musings by Dorian and Maria, who were staring off toward the part of the Corbolo that ran through Cheydinhal market district. "That's her," Dorian said.

Maria frowned at the now not so dirty ginger wood elf climbing on to a rock. "She looks like that seamstress that helped pin up Cora's bridal gown several years ago."

"I find it unsettling that you remember an elven seamstress from fifteen years ago," Dorian told her.

The Breton turned to him. "I recall every detail of my sister's wedding fondly, thank you!"

Vincentus moaned. There they go again...

Over on the rock, Artanis was oblivious to the three people who had been discussing her. When she'd seen the river (was it the Reed or the Corbolo? She thought that she'd heard someone say Corbolo, but Nelgos had told her the Reed fed Cheydinhal's water supply, so she really did not know) she had gone straight to it and splashed into the shallows to wash off. She used her old dress turned belt to scrub at her arms and legs and, once done, she tried to wash her face with her hands. She was mildly successful so, when she was done, she splashed back up the bank and sat on a rock. There she began to untangle her matted ginger locks. That task hurt. A lot. Up until a few weeks ago, her mother had brushed her hair in the evening, plaited it, and brushed it out again the next morning. Even while she was in the wilderness, Bron-shay had taken to running his clawed fingers through her hair and working out the snarls.

"I guess if you don't have hair, it feels nice to play with someone else's once and a while," the Bosmer murmured to herself when she hit a particularly nasty knot. With a painful little whimper, she went on trying to get the tangles out.

It didn't take her too terribly long to fix her hair, although it wasn't a very comfortable ordeal. Her hair had been a total mess before and even now her scalp felt grimy, though there wasn't much she could do for that without soap.

The elfling sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees and watching the people of Cheydinhal. It was a pretty city, much nicer than Leyawiin. The air was fresher and the buildings better kept. From her perch on the rock she could see the river twist off through a neighborhood and disappear beyond another bridge. In the other direction, not too far away, was the Chapel of Arkay, which stood proudly over the city.

After a while, the sun began to set and the people began to return to their homes. Aside from a glance or two here and there, no one had paid much attention to Artanis, which she didn't mind much. She chose to be alone.

But then the air grew cold and the sky got dark. Artanis shivered. The mountain air of Cheydinhal was much different than the air in Leyawiin.

Leyawiin, where she'd lived all her life.

Leyawiin, which the high elves had taken over.

Leyawiin, where her mother had died.

Later that night, unseen or ignored by the patrolling city watch, Artanis climbed into a willow tree in one of the parks and cried herself to sleep.

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _hmm, the only character I don't own here is that brief mention of Rythe Lythandus. Of the...two(?) actual NPCs who've shown up so far, I like him more than Elenwen. Oh, and I don't own the Elder Scrolls, go figure._

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _this was going to go far differently, and despite the fact that Artanis is now sulking in the back of my mind palace, I'm cool with how this turned out. Oh, and if you're curious..._

 _This was originally made as a sort of prequel to a Contest Entry for The-Bard's-College annuel Collaboration Contest on DeviantART. I have since completed my entry and put it up both here and there. Feel free to read_ A Dance of Fire and Darkness _if you'd like to see what this was meant to build up to before Artanis decided to take over and plot out a novel_ ** _._**

 _ **EricLightscythe:**_ _yes, she is to an extent. Arty and fire is like cats and water. Or oil and water. But not oil and fire. Truthfully, there's a dark undertone throughout nearly all of Artanis' life, which surprises me as I'm usually a happy go lucky person. Like my Dunmer Jolinar. She'll show up in this story eventually. Honestly, I think she abandons them because she's afraid of being taken from Cyrodiil and she knows they won't leave someone as young as her stranded. On top of that, Cheydinhal has no orphanage. As far as my headcanon goes, there's an orphanage in the Imperial City and in Chorrol and that's it. If it's the comma use, than I blame Benjamin Franklin. That man used a heck of a lot of commas._


	4. The Long Winter

_The Long Winter_

 ***Trigger Warning* This chapter does talk somewhat extensively about cannibalism.**

At first glance, Cheydinhal was a city of picturesque beauty: fair neighborhoods, cobbled streets free of mud, spiraling parks, and a clean river running through the heart. The castle of Count Gervon Indarys stood proudly over the north end of the city, with banners quivering in the dry winds of late summer; it was a grand castle, built with pale grey stones quarried from the east in the Valus Mountains. The center of the town held the Great Chapel of Arkay, whose towering spires rose higher than even the towers of Castle Cheydinhal. The city was known as one of the most beautiful places in Cyrodiil, but underneath the outward images of grandeur, the city had begun to show signs of decay and neglect. The war had taken more than the bulk of the city's legion garrison and the county's sons and daughters; it had taken money and time that had once been used to care for the residence and establishments of Cheydinhal. The city had once prided itself with the lowest number of beggers and vagrants out of all of Cyrodiil's cities. Now, though, several dozens of people had found themselves without a roof over their head due to an inability to pay taxes, running out of money entirely, or some other financial reason. The lot of the beggers had taken to staying against the southwall where the Corbolo flowed into the city from where it came up from the lake on the outside. All they could do was fish out what they could from the waterway and try to cook it over what measly fires they could build from fallen twigs gathered in one of Cheydinhal's many parks. They couldn't afford to request a holding share in the supply caravan that limped between Cheydinhal and Bruma once a month and no one, from the great count to the lowly scullery maid, had offered to do it for them.

Reflectively, a great deal of trouble in Cyrodiil was caused by money. At least when it wasn't caused by invading militaries.

But Artanis, young as she was, didn't know any of that. She simply knew that there were people who had houses and jobs and things and people who didn't. She didn't really understand why that was.

She'd woken up the morning after her arrival in Cheydinhal feeling cold. Her head hurt and her nose felt stuffy, but she still scrambled down the trunk and over to the river bank. It was still early in the morning and not many people beyond the City Watch were out and about, but she didn't mind. On the contrary, she preferred it that way. She still wasn't sure how to handle the larger crowds of Cheydinhal compared to the smaller ones in Leyawiin.

The young elf shuffled to the riverbank and flopped down, staring at the water blankly.

She was hungry. Her stomach ached from lack of food and her limbs felt shaky. When she'd traveled with the Argonians, there wasn't much to go around. It was one thing to feed three fully grown adults who were used to the treatment, but it was an entirely different matter where a Bosmer elfling who had been used to regular meals until just that week was concerned. And then she hadn't eaten since she had left them by the Reed.

Artanis sighed, watching her shimmering reflection in the slow flowing waters of the river. She closed her eyes after a while, attempting to ignore her headache until it faded away.

"Oh hey! Ye get back here!"

The wood elf started, and stared as a scrawny looking old Redguard ran haphazardly across the opposite bank, chasing a...frog. Clambering to her feet, Artanis quickly trudged along on her side of the river, eager to see why the old man so desperately needed the frog. She trailed after him as he continued his pursuit of the creature and yelled several new words and phrases that she'd never heard before. She wasn't sure what a "dashed dremora" or a "fricking bloody wart bottom" was, but they sounded way more fun to say than her mother's preferred, "by the Nine".

At length they reached one of the many arching bridges that crossed over the river and the frog hopped up on to the railing. The Redguard, in turn, ran straight after it through the river, slipped, and face planted the water. Artanis, at the end of the bridge, giggled halfheartedly when she saw this before turning to look for the frog.

The small green animal was perched languidly on the stained wood of the side railing, looking totally different from the frantically hopping little frog from only moments before. The Bosmer quirked a ginger eyebrow at it, almost daring it to jump back into the river. However, the frog stayed still, staring at her with fixated black eyes. Artanis slowly smiled and extended her hand and, the next moment, the frog had hopped from the railing to the floorboards and up into her hand.

She was slowly running her fingers over the frog's slick skin a few minutes later when the Redguard fellow sloshed his way on to the bridge. When he caught sight of her standing there with his prey, he halted...and stared.

"How'd ye do that?" He stammered.

Artanis shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think he just likes me."

The man continued to stare, his dark eyes flickering between the frog and her pointed ears and back again, all while she continued to stroke the frog. At length, he took a cautious step forward, still eying her, and spoke. "Yer a wood elf, aren't ye?"

"Yes, I am," she replied slowly.

The man only nodded, looking thoughtful. "Where be yer parents, then?"

The Bosmer bristled noticeably and the Redguard took a step back. The wood elves were a curious bunch and he had no way of knowing if this one, who was seemingly a child, was truly an elfling or only one in appearance. They stared at each other in silence, the only sound being the occasional croaking of the frog. Artanis' amber eyes smoldered almost like fire as she glowered at the much larger person who stood across from her, resembling a drowned rat.

Minutes ticked by before the wood elf sighed, breaking the quiet. "My parents are gone, thank you."

"Oh," was all the Redguard could manage to say, shifting uneasily from foot to foot before looking back at the elf thoughtfully. "So, might I have that froggy in yer hands, then?"

Artanis frowned at him before looking down at the frog, which was peacefully sitting in the hollow made by her joined hands. "What do you want with him?" She demanded, not looking up.

"I, ye see Missy...it be quite hard to get food around here these days and boiled frog legs are startin' to look quite appetizin', if ya know what I-"

"You're wanting to eat him?" Cried Artanis. She held the frog closer, as if to defend it from the hungry hands of her "adversary".

The Redguard only nodded. "As I'd said, food is mighty hard to get these days, specially if ya don't have the money for it."

"Oh," was all the young Bosmer could manage. She looked sadly down at the frog for a long moment. Then she thrust both hands forward in the direction of the Redguard; surprisingly the frog stayed in place, only letting out a protesting croak at the sudden absence of Artanis' body heat. "Take him."

"Thank ye kindly, Miss," the Redguard said with a toothy grin, revealing one gold tooth on the bottom amongst other teeth at varying stages of decay and rot. He reached out and deftly grabbed his prey from the wood elf. The frog let out several wailing croaks when the Redguard picked him up, and Artanis turned away, not wanting to watch. The croaking was cut off moments later and silence hung over the bridge.

Artanis cracked an eye open, daring to look back at the Redguard. He had a dirty old sack in his left hand and the right was pocketing a little knife. He then tied the sack closed, tucked the end through the discolored sash about his waist, and turned back to the wood elf.

"M' name's Cyd, by the way, short for Cyrus. What do I call ya?"

"Me? I...my name is Artanis..." The wood elf's voice trailed off as something struck her, pushing all thoughts of killing the frog out of her head - somewhat. "You said you were gonna eat the frog."

"Aye," Cyd nodded.

Artanis took a hopeful step forward. "May I...could I have some too?"

Cyd looked down at the Bosmer, as if seeing her for the first time. Artanis had taken a bath the day before, it was true, but having not used soap and then proceeding to sleeping in a tree, she still looked disheveled and dirty. Her skin had lost the soft, healthy tanned look it had sported in Leyawiin, now looking gaunt and pale. Her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was unkempt, oily, and still full of snarls, and never mind the state of her clothes. All in all, she looked like Oblivion had sucked her in before spitting her back out. Cyd glanced between the elfling and the sack at his side, a thought having occurred to him. "Tell me, do ya think that ye can catch more froggies like this one?" He poked the sack for emphasis.

Artanis blinked. "I guess so," she mumbled.

"Well then, come with me, Missy."

A little while later, Artanis found herself sitting on the riverbank with her feet dangling in the water as she hummed an unknown tune. Cyd sat further up on the bank, watching in wait for the frogs that would undoubtedly flock to the wood elf. After a long while, a frog appeared from the bullrushes on the side of the river and began hopping in Artanis' direction, soon followed by another and then another. Cyd watched in amazement as half a dozen frogs amassed around the little elf's legs; unlike most little girls, who would start crying at the sight of so many frogs around them, she seemed to enjoy them.

He waited a little while longer for a few more frogs to join the crowd around Artanis before slowly picking his way toward them. They seemed almost entranced, the way they simply sat there, croaking along to whatever song Artanis was humming. Cyd picked up one after the other, finding all of them surprisingly stiff when he did.

When all of the frogs were gathered up and placed in the sack, the Redguard turned excitedly to face the little wood elf, only to find her with her arms wrapped around her knees and her eyes squeezed shut as she sniffled. His face softened, knowing what was bothering her.

"Ye know," he said as he sat down next to her. "I once sailed under a Nord who had a tendency to shout." Artanis peeked up at him with another sniffle. "Ya see, the Nords have this ability to send their adversaries, their enemies, runnin' for the hills with a simple shout. Anyway, this fella wasn't very good at controllin' that, he sent sailors and wenches runnin' the moment he raised his voice and lost his temper. Then he realized that if he were a captain, see, it'd work to his advantage. He could get the crew to obey him like that-" he snapped his fingers, "-and, because he was such a bloody good captain in most other respects, he knew they'd be hard-pressed to commit a mutiny against him." He looked down at Artanis, who was watching him silently, except for the occasional sniffle. "Ye see, kid, everyone has their own special ability. Yer a wood elf, and ye be naturally inclined toward attractin' and calmim' down animals. There be nothin' wrong in usin' that ability to hunt as there be nothin' wrong in bein' an archer and shootin' them from a tree perch."

Artanis didn't speak. Instead, she turned and gazed out over the river and, beyond that, toward one of Cheydinhal's high-end neighborhoods. The two sat there in a somewhat companionable silence until, at last, the elfling turned to the old sailor.

"How do you cook frog legs?"

Cyd grinned. "I thought ye'd never ask, Missy."

Boiled frog legs didn't taste bad, surprisingly, and Artanis found herself actually enjoying them. She nibbled on her third frog as Cyd rambled on about different things he had learned to cook during his travels.

"I know some twenty different ways to prepare frog legs for eatin'," he told her, "And some of them are considered delicacies in some places."

"Like where?" She asked eagerly.

Cyd paused for a moment, screwing up his face in thought, before exclaiming, "Why, anywhere where there be folks willin' to eat 'em!"

Artanis snorted. Cyd gave her a look of bemusement and she burst out laughing. The old Redguard rolled his eyes at the small elf before becoming absorbed with his own pile of legs.

For the next several weeks after that, Artanis' days were set. She would leave the tree she slept in on her first night in Cheydinhal, go scrub her hands and face in the river, and then she would meet Cyd and they'd go hunting for food. Occasionally they were joined by one or two other beggers from the south side of the city, but otherwise, the two would strike out alone. The bounty of meat that they'd caught on that first day came to be a rare thing; Artanis seldom attracted more than a handful of frogs to her side. By late Hearthfire, the air held a tale tell chill and, in early Frostfall, the frogs had stopped coming altogether when the Bosmer attempted to summon them.

She sat on the banks of the Corbolo, well back from the cold water, and glared at it. Everything she'd been eating for well over a month had come from the river, but now it was the middle of fall and the water was too cold for the frogs. Cyd had explained it to her the day before: frogs and turtles and lizards didn't function well in cold weather, so the frogs had gone into their winter sleep and wouldn't come back out again until spring. When they did, he assured her, they'd have a grand feast of frog legs. "There'll be so many that all the folks at the southwall will get their fill too!" The wood elf's stomach had simultaneously grumbled and churned at the mere thought of it. Part of her was sick of the funny tasting meat, but the other part, the part of her that was still hungry all the time, leapt at his words.

The old sailor found her sitting there a little before noon. She was huddled in an old blanket and looked altogether miserable. She didn't turn around at his approach; she didn't turn her head, either, when he came to a stop next to her.

"What be the matter, Missy?"

"I'm hungry," Artanis grumbled.

To her surprise, Cyd threw his head back and laughed. She scowled at him until, at last, he stopped and looked back at her, mirth still dancing in his dark eyes. "Now Artanis, ye needn't look so glum!" He held up a dagger from behind his back.

"Where'd you get that?" The Bosmer asked in surprise.

"The Fighters Guild had a whole bundle of rusty daggers they'd thrown out and I spose this 'un got mixed up in the bunch," he explained, showing her the scuffed up blade of the iron dagger. "Still sharp, it is."

Artanis glanced between him and the dagger. "What're we supposed to do with it, exactly?"

"Well, ye see, I was thinkin' to myself, 'little Arty can attract frogs like flowers an' bees, but what about other animals? Like rabbits and squirrels and things?' Then I figured, 'if we be goin' huntin', we're goin' to need a knife or somethin' else sharp to hunt with,' so I found this," he again held up the dagger in all of its worn glory. Artanis admired it, silently agreeing that it was much better than his tiny pocketknife. "We'd do best leavin' the city, of course. I dare say all the lads in the houses have scared off or killed the city squirrels with their stone slingers." Cyd smiled down at his companion. "So what do ya think, kid?"

The wood elf stared at him for a good long minute. She'd never gone hunting for rabbit before; her papa had caught swamp rabbits in traps back home, but she'd never done the actual hunting herself. Still, she stared almost blankly at the old Redguard.

"Come now, Arty! Ye can't be thinkin' that yer leadin' me to actually believe ye're not a bit peckish anymore?" Cyd prompted the elfling.

Artanis sighed and gazed back over the river for a moment before at last stumbling to her feet. "All right then," she said quietly.

"That'a'girl." Cyd then began to lead Artanis out toward the east gate and he didn't protest when she slipped her small hand into his larger weathered one as they walked. The two beggers made their way through the back alleys of Cheydinhal's residential district to where the gate opened out upon a derelict road that, when followed, eventually wound its way through the Valus Mountains and into Morrowind. At one point beyond that, it was supposed to fork and go north toward the city of Blacklight, though that way was rarely used anymore.

Artanis and Cyd weren't trying to enter the eastern province by any means, so the state of the old road didn't bother them overly much as they left it for the surrounding brush.

"Back in the good ole days," the Redguard said as he led the way through the undergrowth, "the roads headin' east between here and the lands of the dark elves used to be hustlin' and bustlin' wit' activity. The Empire had some big claims to lands thataway," he gestured toward the mountains, "and everyone in Cyrodiil was talkin' 'bout it."

"Were you there to see it?" Artanis enquired.

"By the Nine, no, Missy!" Cyd chuckled. "No, that was over a hundred and some years before I was ever born. That time must've been, oh, some hundred an' eighty years back."

Artanis was quiet as Cyd helped her over a fallen log, deciding against telling her friend that she could've been over it at least three times from the moment he started over it to the moment he was once more on his feet. Once they had started walking again, she turned inquisitively to Cyd. "Do you think there's anyone alive now who was then?"

"O' course there is," he nodded. "Back in town, there's that painter fella, Lythandus be his name. Man must be over two centuries by now, and I 'spect he has a few more left in him." He looked down at the Bosmer at his side almost fondly. "Yer people be nearly as long lived as them dark elves."

Artanis blinked in surprise. "I had no idea," she whispered with a look of awe on her small pointed face.

A frown creased Cyd's already wrinkled brow. "There be not much ye really know about yer own people, huh kid?"

"I..." Artanis trailed off, unable to answer. A forlorn look crept on to her face. "I learned how to take care of these," she pointed at the dagger that Cyd had tucked through the old faded sash he'd tied around his waist as a belt. "But," she continued slowly, "I guess that's not really much at all, is it?"

Cyd shook his head. "Not really at all, Missy, no."

The two continued on in silence for another ten or so minutes before Cyd brought them to a halt at the edge of an open area. Artanis looked around, curious, as Cyd sat down on a nearby rock.

"Now listen here, Missy," he said, catching the young one's attention. Artanis whipped her head around to look at him, sending several filthy strands of ginger hair flying into her mouth. As she was spitting both them and the taste out, Cyd went on talking. After a good deal of time spent around him, Artanis had come to learn that Cyd enjoyed talking, evenmoreso than he liked eating frog legs, and she was eager to hear what he had to say about the Bosmer. "Ye be a smart lil'un, I'll give ye that, and there be a few things about yer people that ye obviously don't know, which ye should, and so I think that I should tell ye 'bout them, else no one will."

"Okay," Artanis nodded, sitting down on the leafstrone ground.

"First of all - wood elves be cannibals."

There was a moment of silence, before - "what's a can a bobble?"

Cyd sighed. This was going to take a while. "A cannibal is a fella who eats other people. Like if I were to go and eat that annoying woman who hangs around the market and bickers with the Watch. That'd be cannibalism."

Artanis stared at her friend in horror. Her people were people eaters? Her parents had eaten people...their neighbors? A tendril of thought wound its way into the back of her mind and forced its way uninvited to the front. Did her mother eat Sercion? He'd been so sick and then she'd acted so weird afterward, she had said he was dead! And then her and Papa had never spoken about him after.

While those dark thoughts plagued Artanis' mind, Cyd went on talking, not noticing the look of horror that had dawned on her face. "Course it be a sorta tribal type thing. Yer 'sposed to eat the people that ye kill in the great forest. Within three days or somethin'. The elf I sailed with didn't specify much there. Point is, wood elves love meat, especially raw meat."

At the end of his speech, Artanis looked properly ill. "Cyd...that's horrible."

"Can't say I agree with it either, kid, can barely stomach the thought, but that's how they be. Just as Nords put their dead in crypts and the dark elves burn theirs, yer folks not only eat the dead they kill but also the dead in their family too. Somethin' 'bout ritualistic somethin' or other."

"Cyd..."

"Yer people also don't really eat plants, though I'm not sure why not. Plants are somethin' good. And they sing their houses outta trees, I hear, and a few of their cities can walk. Don't know how they manage that, o' course, but still..."

"Cyd..." The Redguard looked down at the little wood elf, looking at her as if he was just noticing her for the first time. "I'm not hungry anymore."

He stared at her in surprise. "Whadaya mean? Yer always hungry!"

Artanis shook her head before stumbling to her feet. The thought that maybe, quite possibly her beloved mother had eaten little Siri, her baby brother, ran rampant in her mind. Shaking her head again, Artanis ducked away from Cyd, whose face was creased in concern. She couldn't stay, she couldn't...

The little Bosmer turned tail and ran from the clearing, ignoring the calls of Cyd behind her.

Artanis didn't quit running for a long while. In fact, she only stopped when she stumbled over a large stone and fell. She spiraled over it, heart beating rapidly, as tears trickled down her cheeks. She didn't eat him, she didn't, she just couldn't have! Artanis let out a wail and rolled over, stumbling once more to her feet. She managed to walk a few steps more before falling against a wall. She crumpled to the ground, finally succumbing to tears.

When she finally managed to stop crying, Artanis wiped her nose on the tattered sleeve of her dress. She cried too much, almost more than Sercion had ever had as a baby.

"No," she said aloud, voice shivering much less than she thought it would.

To distract herself, Artanis began to examine her surroundings. It was well after dark, Masser and Secunda hung high in the sky, and the world was more quiet than it had been in months. To her back stood a ruined Imperial fort, probably built to watch the trade caravans on the roads. Tentatively, Artanis ventured along the moss glazed wall for several yards before finding where the entrance to the courtyard had once been. It was well passed when the city gates were closed for the night and, well, she didn't know where she was. The fort seemed like the best idea for a place to stay, at least until the morning.

"Oh drat!" Rang throughout the area when she found the entrance utterly blocked by the crumbling stones of the fallen archway. With a huff, the little Bosmer turned on her heel and marched into the woods, though presently she paused. Ever so slowly, Artanis turned and stared at the shadow of the fort against the darkness of night.

Something in her quivered at the thought of leaving it behind. One foot crept forward, soon followed by the other, and quite suddenly Artanis ran for the wall and scrambled up its side like a spider. Seconds later, she crested the top of the wall.

A triumphant smile appeared on Artanis' face as she stood up. The courtyard of the fort was overgrown with weeds and a purple flower that she'd never seem before, dotted here and there with the crumbling remains of stones fallen from the ramparts and walls. Taking a cautious step forward, Artanis made her way around the outer wall toward the single tower that seemed to dominate much of the back of the compound. It took her several minutes due to the disrepair of the walls, but when she found herself at the tower's side, Artanis began to climb down the uneven stones and into the courtyard.

A wolf cried in the distance, startling Artanis violently, and she let go of the wall while she was still a great distance from the ground. With a terrified scream, the elfling fell swiftly through the air and collided, hard, with the ground barely a moment later.

The last thing she remembered, as an overwhelming pain unlike any she'd felt pulsed throughout her entire body, was the howling of the wolves at the fort's walls, trying to get to her but unable to pass over the high fortifications. The thought occurred to her, as the darkness claimed her, that if she hadn't climbed inside they would have gotten her.

It was late afternoon and the wolves had long since left to find a more accessible prey. The woodlands to the east of the Blue Road were thriving, unaware of the foreign threat creeping ever closer to the last strongholds of the Heartlands and the Niben. Deep within a forgotten fort, lost to the Imperials and their enemies, the little elfling rolled over in a bed, though it could be hardly recognized as the once luxurious, though out of place, resting place it had been long before.

With a contented sigh, Artanis yawned, reaching up to rub at her sleep crusted eyes. A moment later, both eyes burst open as she catapulted up and took in her surroundings. The last thing she could remember was pain and the noise of prowling wolves nearby. Actually, she thought as she examined her hands (both still dirty and scratched from climbing), she was surprised that she was still alive. Gingerly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She stood there a moment, testing to see if they still worked properly, before creeping forward to examine her new surroundings.

She was in a large room, which seemed to have long ago been some sort of living space, though it appeared to have not seen anything alive in a very long time. Faint light coming from a single high up window revealed cobwebs, hanging heavy in every visible corner, and showed dust particles thick in the air.

A low whinny off to her right startled Artanis, and she stumbled back into the bed, looking around wildly for the maker of the noise. The sound of hooves echoed closer and closer toward her and Artanis crawled back against the headboard, cowering in fear.

Two crimson lights seemed to burn through the darkness, creeping ever closer, before at last the face of a horse appeared not too far away. The lights came from it's eyes, Artanis realized even as she pressed her back into the headboard. The horse nickered, as if attempting to comfort the scared elfling. Something stirred inside Artanis, and before she knew it, she was leaning forward and caressing the large face of the horse with her small hands.

"Did you bring me in here?" She whispered, not overly surprised at the hoarse quality of her voice.

The horse blinked and pressed its head into her, as if to say, "yes."

Artanis giggled, to her own surprise, and hugged the horse's head.

"Thank you," she whispered against the downy fur on the horse's muzzle.

It whinnied again, and bent its front legs, lowering itself several inches. It took a moment, but with an encouraging neigh, Artanis realized that the horse wanted her to mount. For the first time, the resonating pain in her back made its presence known as the wood elf stretched herself to get on to her new friend's back. She hissed in pain as she positioned herself comfortably, leaning heavily on the horse's neck.

Artanis had never ridden before, much less gone bareback, but the horse somehow seemed to take that unknown knowledge into account, stepping gently through twisting passages, each one drafty and dusty, as though it carried some precious cargo. Artanis didn't remember much of her ride, aside from emerging into the hazy light of late afternoon, and she quickly fell asleep once more to the lull of the horse's trot.

She awoke again much later to find herself on the banks of the lake that lapped at the southwall of Cheydinhal. She blinked blearaly at the low hanging clouds of midmorning before closing her eyes again.

The sound of running feet and someone frantically calling her name disturbed her again sometime later around noon. Artanis looked up to see Cyd - and a city watchman! - making their way toward her.

"Artanis!" Cyd cried in relief when he was only a few yards away. Artanis managed to get to her feet before the old Redguard pulled her into a fierce embrace.

Artanis hugged him tightly in return as the guardsman came to a halt nearby. "Is this the missing elfling, then?" The guard, Vincentus, asked rather primly.

Cyd nodded his head quickly. "Yes she is. I thank ye for helpin' me search for her, though she turned up not far away."

Vincentus nodded as he gazed down at the ginger elf. "Of course, which is a good thing," he said, "especially after three days."

"Three days?" Artanis inquired, speaking for the first time.

"Aye," Cyd affirmed, while Vincentus elaborated:

"Your friend here came back two nights ago, saying he'd lost his friend in the woods. He told us that he'd searched all night before returning here to get help." He then turned to Cyd, who still had an arm around the stunned elf's shoulders. "Thank you for reporting the condition of Fort Farragut to us. I'm afraid that with the war and being undermanned, we haven't been able to tend to all of the things that we usually take care of." Vincentus smiled down at Artanis, then, which she met with a bashful one of her own. "Stay near the city, young one. The Watch won't always be able to help old Salty Cyrus find you again." With that, the guard returned to the city.

Artanis looked up at Cyd as she backed out of the hug. "Are you really called 'Salty Cyrus'?" Was the first question she asked.

Cyd chuckled. "They just call me that because I be such a good cook."

Artanis didn't join in his laughter, though. Instead, she stared at the ground, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry that I ran off like I did," she told him quietly. "It's just...I didn't know about any of that and...and...it reminded me...it made me think..."

"Hush now, lil'un," Cyd soothed, placing a comforting hand on her head as she sniffled. "I should've remembered that ye're only a little elflin', after all, and that ye probably hadn't heard such tales before."

But she shook her head. "I still shouldn't have...I was almost attacked by wolves and I fell and..." She stopped herself, finding herself unable to bring up the kind horse that had helped her. Cyd probably wouldn't believe her anyway.

"I shouldn't have taken ye that far into the woods and I shouldn't have told ye somethin' that'd frighten ye so," Cyd insisted firmly, and Artanis decided that it would probably be best if she didn't press the subject any longer.

Seemingly satisfied with Artanis quiet agreement, Cyd began to lead her on the long walk back into Cheydinhal. "C'mon Missy, we be on the cusp of winter and I can feel it in me bones that it'll be a long and hard one." He paused to sniff the air exaggeratedly, prompting Artanis to giggle. "Aye, winter be coming."

Artanis followed her friend, though at the last moment before rounding the wall, she looked back over her shoulder at the lake.

On the far shore stood the horse, with its eyes gleaming like rubies and a cost so dark that colors of the woods around it seemed to have been sucked away. The Bosmer gave a silent wave and a smile before turning around again.

A moment later, unknown to Artanis Felagund, Shadowmere trotted silently back into the woods.

 _ **Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long with this; I had a few weeks of writer's block, especially in the beginning. I had the flu between now and last time, and I ended up marathoning all of the**_ **Pirates of the Caribbean** ** _movies, which greatly helped, if you can tell! :) I know the title has little to do with the actual chapter, but I felt no real need to puzzle something else out. Oh! This is now the longest chapter._**

 ** _Disclaimer: Artanis, Cyd the (possible) former pirate, Vincentus, etc. are mine. Everyone else (e.g. Shadowmere) is Bethesda's._**

 ** _Seriously, y'all weren't expecting Shadowmere, were you? Hehehe._**

 ** _Oh! And I almost forgot! The contest (which originally started this whole back story thing) finished last weekend. I ended up not placing, but that makes me no less proud of my piece. Artanis, though, is still mad._**

 **EricLightscythe: Oh, you never know. Argonians can turn up wherever you least expect. I thought for a moment, "what if?" with her being taken in by one of the guilds, but the Thieves Guild would cause problems later and the Fighters Guild, well, they have more pressing matters than little street urchins! Thank you for the review; I hope you enjoyed this belated instalment.**

 **TwillinOfTheWillows: Thank you! That means a lot that you think so (though I don't quite see where you get the idea; my writing, beautiful? It doesn't feel that way). Artanis doesn't get an easy life, I'm afraid, though at times it doesn't really seem so bad, I think. Like eating frog legs!**


	5. Shadows of Aldmeris

_Shadows of Aldmeris_

Winter turned out to be just as long and hard as Cyd had speculated. There were many nights - and days - when Artanis, Cyd, and several others would have frozen to death if the Watch, in a surprising move, didn't keep them supplied with tenderboxes. ("They can get their own wood," Captain Lux had said, "we're surrounded by forests!"). The crackling of the fires and the ache in her stomach weren't enough to distract Artanis from the torturous thoughts that plagued her. Far from banishing them, they brought them to the forefront of her mind. For months she would lay awake at night, huddled amongst several of the beggers, while the imagined picture of her mother and Sercion played over and over again, before giving way the the smoke filled skies and the horrible screams of that night in Leyawiin when her mother had died.

Her mind wasn't the only thing to be ravaged by the recent hardships she had faced; Artanis' body, always slender, was growing more gaunt by the week. Cyd and a few of the other beggers noticed, and went to great lengths to give the young girl just a bit more of whatever that day's menu might consist of.

Despite the hard winter and Artanis' lacklustre for life, she found herself alive and - somewhat - well by the time winter gave way to spring. First Seed brought harsh winds that were more than equal to those felt during the heart of the cold months, and with Rain's Hand came a great deal of rain from the southwest. Artanis and several others were nearly washed away in the Corbolo; after that incident the ragtag group of beggers decided to huddle against the walls of the castle, which were built on a hill, to wait out the worst of the storms.

Second Seed began with the first sunny week Cheydinhal had seen in ages, and, though the waters were perilously high and the bank mostly washed out, Artanis ventured to the river side. She caught a frog that day, but let it go soon after. Her tummy stilled churned at the thought of anymore frog meat, and she didn't want Cyd to come along and get any ideas about a "frog fest".

The days moved on rather slowly as spring stretched on. News came that the Aldmeri Dominion had a choke hold on the Imperial City, and it was all the Watch could do to keep the people from joining together in a panicked mob. The sunny weather hid the sad truth: the elves would be marching on their doorstep soon if Titus Mede and his legions didn't stop them, and it seemed to everyone that dong so was impossible. The thought that the high elves might soon invade Cheydinhal plagued Artanis' dreams to the point where the elfling was getting very little sleep. Her head seemed to hurt most of the time, too, which only seemed to shorten the fuse to her temper. More than once she snapped or growled at someone without provocation.

On the ninteenth of Second Seed, a legion courier was seen running through the town streets to Count Indarys' castle. A crowd soon began to build up behind him like the dust trail of a shooting star. By the time he had reached the open castle gates, half of Cheydinhal stood behind him. Gervon Indarys came out upon the steps to receive him. Unlike his father, who had been a rather flamboyant ruler during his short reign, Gervon was a solemn man, the epitome of the stoic Dunmer.

He listened quietly as the courier spoke, as did the crowds. Not a sound was heard aside from the echoing voice of the Imperial soldier.

"They had us besieged on nearly all fronts; only the road to the Jeralls was open, but even then it was still treacherous to travel by. Seven mornings ago, before dawn, they launched their fiercest attack yet upon the walls of the city, and at last broke inside late in the afternoon. The streets ran with blood as they cut their way through to Green Emperor Way. Emperor Titus led a desperate escape attempt and was only just able to lead the legions and people out of the city and into the north, though the Eighth and hundreds of people besides are still there at the mercy of the high elves. I come from the Seventh Legion, and I have been sent to warn you: they are coming."

With those words, the citizens of Cheydinhal began to panic. They screamed and yelled and shoved at each other in attempts to either flee or storm the castle. The lawn of the castle churned in chaos as Count Indarys watched silently from the top of the stair.

After a moment, when the mob showed no signs of settling down, he stopped forward.

"Silence!"

Almost instantly, the world quieted again. A few people stared at the count in terror, still others in anger, fear, and in hatred. Not toward him, though, but toward the invaders that now resided in their capital.

"Why are they doing this?" A multitude of voices cried out. "We've never done anything to them!"

Count Indarys, if he had been a lesser man, would have rolled his eyes at the people's naïvety; instead he only stood over them, like a father with his children. "The wars and feuds between man and mer go back farther and deeper than anything else remotely of its kind. The Nords and the snow elves, and again the Nords and the Dunmer, are merely an example." He cast a look at the courier, a Nord, who shifted both tiredly and uncomfortably in his boots. "And yet when the Red Mountain erupted and Morrowind was laid waste, the High King of Skyrim gave the isle of Solstheim to the Dunmer, where many of them were able to start over. Prejudices between races can be fought against and conquered. Man, mer, and beast folk could live together in peace, if they so choose, and many have in the past. The Altmer, the Aldmeri Dominion especially, have of yet to properly grasp this. They believe other races, including other elves, to be ignorant and inferior to them. They seek to rule Tamriel as they once did long ago, and in doing so, they seek to dominate over all other people. That is why they have brought war to the Empire, to cast down the Imperial throne and replace it with Altmer tyranny."

The hush that had fallen over the crowds at the beginning of the count's speech stretched out long after he had finished. The tension in the air was as taunt as a bowstring. Count Indarys gazed at the subjects under his care before turning to speak to the courier.

"How long do we have before they are marching on our walls?"

"Less than a week, a few days at best," he informed him.

The count nodded shortly before turning once more to the gathering at his feet. "Go throughout the city and gather what provisions you can; blankets, food, heat sources, things of that nature, and bring them here to the castle yard. And all of you who can bear arms, do so, and gather before Arkay's chapel with what weapons and armor you can find."

"Our stores are open," the head of the local Fighters Guild said, climbing a little ways up the castle steps. "We will be glad to help prepare a militia."

Gervon nodded. "You have our thanks, Master gro-Kardug." Then to the majority: "I ask that you go about these tasks in an orderly manner. Time is not on our side, but foreknowledge is. We must use it to our advantage!"

The crowds quickly dispersed, spreading the orders to those few who had not heard them as they began to carry them out. A few fights did break out over possessions at the realization that, if the Dominion did indeed break into the city, buildings would fall and homes would be destroyed as they swept through toward the castle, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

By the evening, several hundred people were being crowded into the great halls of the castle, while out in the streets, the guards and the militia were patrolling, keeping watch for any forerunners of the Aldmeri army. Artanis, who had been carried in half asleep by Cyd and tucked into a corner of the parlor on the ground floor, huddled in on herself, horrified that she might soon be burned up like Leyawiin, and all of Cheydinhal with her.

The next morning, the world beyond had acquired a deathly silence, as if it was holding its breath before taking a plunge into cold water. Hundreds of people slept restlessly on the floors, or paced between them in fitful agitation. Outside the guards continued in their silent vigil, jumping at the slightest noise.

Artanis tiptoed around her fellow beggers, who had been allotted a space in the front parlor. Like a phantom, she crept through the passages, stepping around and over anyone who had claimed a spot on the floor as their own, until she came to the doors that separated the castle proper from the innermost chambers. Absently, the fact that there were no guards to keep people - and possible thieves - from intruding upon the count's family chambers bothered Artanis, though she quickly reminded herself that, if there were, she would never be able to get in.

The door swung open and closed without a creak and Artanis slipped undetected into the next hall. Her pointed ears twitched, picking up the distant thrum of male voices coming from somewhere behind one of the closed doors. It took her but a moment to find the room with the source of the sound, and she quickly made her way in that direction. When Artanis approached the door, she found that it had been left open; whether for airflow or because of negligence, she wasn't sure, but still she crept forward and peered curiously through the keyhole.

Count Indarys and Captain Lux stood around the count's desk, along with the legion courier, Baldr, and a younger Dunmer, who looked striking like the count in appearance. Spread across the desk was a map of Cyrodiil, dotted with red and gold flags; the gold heavily outweighed the red.

"General Jonna has a garrison west of Bruma, somewhere around Sancre Tor, but the Emperor doesn't believe that it'll be enough to take back the capital," the Nord was saying, "yet."

Captain Lux huffed, tracing a finger through the air between Sancre Tor and Cheydinhal. "We can't look for help from that quarter, then." He looked up at the count. "My Lord, our best course of action would be to send the people by the east road into Morrowind. The lands beyond the mountains-"

"I know of those lands, Captain, my forefather was born and bred there and my family has long since traveled through it," Gervon cut in shortly. "If we send our citizens by that road, the armies of the Dominion will catch up with them before they make it halfway to the border." He banged his fist on the desk, causing most of the colored flags to quiver or fall. "They will slaughter them without mercy or restraint and blood will rain over the Niben!" He spoke the last part with such ferocity that Artanis started, jolting the door open.

Four heads swiveled in her direction, each face showing varying stages of anger, surprise, and bewilderment.

"Opsie daisy..." Artanis squeaked, wide eyed and trying to back away into the hall. She didn't make it far before both Captain Lux and Baldr had rushed forward and grabbed her by the forearms. She struggled against them as they pulled her to stand before the count.

"What is an urchin like you doing here, eavesdropping in on our private councils?" Demanded the younger dark elf, crimson eyes flashing dangerously.

"Peace, Fendall," Count Gervon raised a hand, halting his son as Artanis quivered fearfully between the two soldiers. The count gazed down at the shaking wood elf. "Why have you come here? These rooms are not open to the public, even now, and you are trespassing."

"I...I..."

"Speak up!" Fendall ordered.

Artanis whimpered.

Captain Lux cleared his throat. "My Lord Gervon, this girl is one of the beggers that have made their dwelling on the southern wall. My men reported that she showed up, alone, at the end of Last Seed."

"Indeed," Gervon murmured, studying Artanis intently. "What is your name, child?"

Artanis shuddered, tears stinging the back of her eyes. "Ar...ar...Artanis Fel...Felagund, suh, sir."

Something changed in Gevron's eyes at the sight of her tears. "Gentleman, let the girl go." Captain Lux and Baldr stared at him, but nonetheless they released Artanis, who tumbled to the floor, and Prince Fendall gave his father a look of astonishment. "It is not right to cause a child to fear you so much as to the point of tears, even if they have done wrong," Gevron told his son, bending down to be level with the elfling. "I ask you again, why are you here?"

Swallowing thickly, Artanis opened and closed her mouth several times before, at last, she spoke. "I, I'm from Leyawiin. I was there when the high elves first attacked." She paused shyly, but at the count's encouraging nod, she went on. "They just appeared out of nowhere. We went to bed one night and then when we woke up, we found the whole area outside the walls covered with them. The siege...there, there wasn't one! They flooded the city not long after the sun came up. I didn't see what happened in the streets, but my mama..." she hesitated, remembering clearly Ruinil Felagund's soft voice echoing strangely throughout their cottage, telling her to hide under the bed. She had been standing at the window, watching the skirmishes between soldiers on the streets, but had not let her daughter anywhere near the windows or doors. Her mother had been more scared in those day than she had ever known her to be. Artanis took a deep breath, forcing her thoughts away from Ruinil's pale face. "My mama," she said, "told me that the Dominion soldiers executed everyone bearing weapons against them. We lived under their rule for over a year, after that. I had to come and tell you, sir, cause you can't let that happen to Cheydinhal! You can't let them kill everyone and burn up everything!"

Artanis stopped speaking with that last plea, and silence hung over the study for several long minutes, until Baldr spoke up, looking thoughtfully at the Bosmer. "The high elves have an iron grip over the cities they've taken, and it's nearly impossible to find survivors who've fled from them." Artanis looked down at her feet in horror. Baldr sighed. "Rumor has it that at the end of last summer, the town of Leyawiin was gutted by a fire, in which many died and still others attempted to escape. They say that most didn't."

Fendall looked quickly between his father, the legionnaire, and the captain, before finally settling on the count. "You mean to tell me," he began, "that out of countless adults, this mere chit of a girl managed to evade the bloodhounds that make up the Dominion?" He scoffed, "That's the most ridiculous-"

"I used the trees," Artanis interrupted suddenly, glaring up at the prince.

"What?" He stammered in confusion.

Count Indarys, instead, smiled. "Of course," he said, to the others' confusion. "The wood elves are most at home in the boughs of a tree, whereas no high elf who cares anything for their appearance would be caught dead in one." Artanis gave him a strained smile and nodded vigorously.

Fendall's mouth made an 'o' as Captain Lux and Baldr exchanged a look that clearly said that they were both likely out of their depth amongst such elven topics.

"And what," inquired the count as he straightened up, "became of your mother?"

"She's dead, sir. They killed her," Artanis answered stiffly.

Gervon inclined his head, having expected that answer, and stood up. "I am going to ring for a chambermaid. She will take you to get a bath and fresh clothes," he told her, and Artanis suddenly became painfully aware of how ghastly she must look - and smell - to the group of men. The count went on, "Once you are finished, she will return you to the castle proper. I may seek your company again later, Miss Felagund," he concluded. He then went to the wall where a golden cord hung between two bookshelves, both of which were laden with an assortment of old tomes, and yanked at it.

In the meantime, Baldr went about repositioning the flags on the map. When he had a single Dominion flag remaining in his fingers, he paused, gazing morosely at Lake Rumare and the Imperial Isle. Captain Lux, too, looked at the map with despair. Every city on the coasts and in Colovia was dominated by the Aldmeri armies, and beyond that they had a heavy presence throughout the rest of the province. Fendall reached forward and plucked the flag from the legionnaire's limp fingers and dropped it on top of the Imperial City. It teetered back and forth a moment before finally settling down. The three, and Artanis, stared at it.

Count Idarys came back to the desk and looked between the four. They hadn't stood there long when a soft knock on the door sounded and a maid bowed herself into the room.

"My Lord," she inclined her head.

"Juliana, take Miss Felagund here-" Gervon set his hand on Artanis' shoulder and steered her toward the maid, "-to clean up. You should be able to find something for her to wear in Thera's dressing room."

"Of course, my Lord," Juliana bobbed her head. She then turned to Artanis with a smile, and extended her head. "Come with me, dear."

Artanis looked back at the count before taking the proffered hand and letting the maid lead her from the study.

The prince and the two soldiers stayed quiet as Juliana left the study with Artanis. Once they were gone and the door was shut, Captain Lux spoke, "My Lord, the girl still entered your private rooms unbidden and without a proper reprimand. What, may I ask, are you hoping to gain from treating her to Princess Thera's things?"

Instead of answering, Gervon strode over to the desk and rested his hand lightly over Topal Bay. "Artanis Felagund is determined, I believe, to fight against, or at least, support those who find against the Aldmeri Dominion. She says she is from Leyawiin and I have no reason to doubt her. It is rare, as you said Baldr, to find survivors from the cities taken by the high elves. I believe she may be able to help us prevent Leyawiin's fate from happening again here."

"I would just like to know how she made it up the Niben," said Fendall suddenly, drawing all eyes in his direction.

Artanis was given a bath. Two, actually; the first was to get all of the dirt and grime that had become caked into her skin over the passed six months out and the second was to properly wash. Then, dear, long-suffering Juliana scrubbed her hair and washed it with a bar of lavender soap. The oils for her second bath had been lavender scented as well and Artanis felt like she was in paradise. After well over an hour in the water, Artanis finally sat on a stool, skin rubbed pink and rapped in a robe, as her hair was trimmed and tied back into a long plait. Once her hair was fixed (and her scalp felt raw), Juliana dressed her in a long russet red gown. If she squeezed her eyes shut, Artanis could almost pretend that it was her mother and not some strange, though kind, maid who was taking care of her.

"There," Juliana cooed while adjusting the long sleeves of the gown at the shoulders so that they fell straight. "You look like a doll, Miss Felagund."

Artanis' cheeks flushed, "Thank you."

The maid smiled kindly. She then stood up and, taking the wood elf by the hand, guided her back through the castle to the more public chambers. Artanis soon found herself safely deposited back with Cyd and her other friends from the southwall.

Once Juliana had left Artanis in the parlor, Cyd had made as if to embrace his young friend when he noticed her entirely new state of dress. "Why Missy! Ye look like one of them storybook princesses they always be talkin' 'bout!" He chuckled, reaching around her to tweak the end of her fiery braid. "I had no idea ye were so ginger!"

Artanis giggled and smiled freely up at the old Redguard. "My hair's like a campfire; when it gets really dirty, it's like the fire's been put out!"

Cyd and several others within earshot laughed, and Artanis soon joined their circle as they told stories. Several she had heard before, most of which had been over the course of the winter. There were those, though, that she wasn't familiar with. She found all of them utterly fascinating.

The day dragged on, though amongst the beggers in the parlor it seemed to fly by on the wind. There was no sign of the Dominion marching from the west (or from any other direction), though early in the evening, one of the archers from the Fighters Guild insisted that he had seen smoke billowing up from the somewhere off toward the Niben River. The count didn't seek Artanis out at all during the rest of that day, either, though the little elfling didn't much mind that. Her earlier morning meeting with the Count of Cheydinhal, his son, and the two men trained by the Imperial Legion had left her a bit confused, though she had seen the map and knew that Cyrodiil was in desperate need of aid. That night, however, she didn't dwell on that. Instead, she leaned up against the wall, right next to Cyd, and listened as he told her again the tale of the original Cyrus, Tiber Septim, and the Redguards' induction into the Third Empire. She fell asleep sometime after he'd just begun the part about the dragon that Tiber Septim had hired.

Dragons flying around and helping people. Now that was the real storybook tale.

"Arty, lass, wake up," Cyd's voice said sometime later. The elfling blinked groggily before finally focusing on the worried face of the old sailor hovering above her.

"What ith it?" She yawned. She stretched out, taking in the room around her. Most everyone had gone to sleep and the fire that had been crackling merrily in the hearth had long ago burned down to a few glowing embers, casting the room into deep shadow. Artanis shivered, the middle of spring in the mountains was much colder than any spring - or winter - back in Leyawiin. The drastic change in climate still astonished her at times. She looked up at Cyd curiously. "What'th wrong?"

Cyd, who normally would chuckle at the little lisp Artanis acquired when she was sleepy, only shook his head. "A man from Lord Gervon came by a few minutes ago, said that the count wanted to see ye. I told him to let me wake ye up first before I sent ye off gallivanting wit' the gentry." The Redguard fixed her with a look. "Now Artanis, what did ye do to make ol' Gervon Indarys call on ye in the wee hours o' the morning?"

Cyd's humor was lost on Artanis, who looked guiltily down at her feet as he spoke. When he posed the question, she replied quietly, "I went looking for the count this morning before any of you were awake; that's why you couldn't find me and that's why I came back in these clothes. I had to tell him what happened in Leyawiin, Cyd! He's the only one who can stop them from burning and killing everything here!" This last part was accompanied by Artanis' shaking and trembling, on the verge of tears once more.

"Easy there, kid," Cyd told her calmly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. He still didn't know most of the why's and how's of Artanis' life before she came to Cheydinhal, but he knew that a great deal of it caused her nightmares. Once the distressed elfling settled down, he asked her to continue, if she could, to which she nodded.

"Count Gervon said he'd find me later. He wants to know more about when the Dominion attacked Leyawiin," she explained. "The, uh, Legion man from yesterday, er, the day before yesterday, he said that people don't really make it away from the high elves." Artanis looked up at Cyd, her amber eyes wide; whether from fear or awe, though, he couldn't quite tell.

He exhaled heavily. "Ye best be goin' then, Missy."

Artanis bobbed her head quickly, darting to her feet and making her way to the door. Halfway across the room, she turned and looked back at the Redguard. "Thank you Cyd."

He started, "For what?"

The wood elf gave him a partial kind of shrug. The next moment, she was gone.

The guard outside led her back through the long corridors, going a completely different way than Artanis had gone that morning, and she paused when she realized that they weren't heading for the study. The guard's hand on her back, pushing her forward, caused her to stumble onward again. At last, they approached a great door on the second floor. It was an obvious part of the castle proper, but Artanis felt some trepidation at having go in inside.

She stood back as the guard pulled open one of the tall, dark oak doors, and gestured for her to go through. "He's in the back," he told her. Artanis stumbled on the hem of her borrowed dress as she crossed over the threshold. She bit her lip and lifted the front so that it hung a few inches up from the ground to keep it off of her feet, like she'd seen women on their way to Sundas service do. Once ready, she made her way deeper into the room. One look told her that she was in a library, a large one at that, and she wondered why it was so near the halls where Count Indarys entertained people when libraries were meant to be quiet places. Artanis stared at the hundreds of different books that were stacked nearly to the ceiling as she wound her way through the tall maze of bookshelves.

The library of Castle Leyawiin had been much more organized, she mused silently when she nearly collided with a large shelf of dusty red books. The dust bellowed up in clouds and tickled her nose; Artanis had barely managed to turn her head before an almighty sneeze erupted from her mouth.

"Would you care for a handkerchief?"

Artanis jumped a good foot in the air at the sound of Count Gervon Indarys' voice. She whirled around to face him, and found him holding out a neat white handkerchief. With a muttered, "thank you," she accepted the cloth and wiped her nose. When she tried to give it back, the count shook his head.

"You should hold on to it," he told her. "I have a dozen more just for this sort of situation."

He then led the Bosmer over to the fireplace in the back of the library. Unlike the one in the parlor, this fire roared merrily on the hearthstone. The count directed Artanis to a pair of wingback chairs that sat across from each other on the hearthrug, and gave her a hand so that she wouldn't have to climb into the chair (she was only just over four feet tall and in a dress, after all). When they were both settled, Count Indarys spoke.

"I apologize, Miss Felagund, for asking for you so late. I would offer you refreshments, but my kitchens are in short supply and it is well after midnight."

"It's okay," Artanis replied quietly, casting an uneasy glance at the large fire.

Count Indarys studied her before settling back into his chair. "You see, Miss Felagund, I find myself at a crossroads. The Empire is crumbling under the war machine of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Imperial City has fallen, Emperor Titus has been driven into the north, and we have found ourselves as one of the last two cities who can stand against them. A great number of the legions are in Hammerfell, others are broken and scattered throughout western and northern Cyrodiil, and there are none who can be sent for to reinforce Cheydinhal before the Dominion shows their face at our gates."

Artanis gaped at him. "Wh-why are you telling me, though, Sir? I mean...I'm just a kid."

The older elf gave her a small smile. "You are only a child, though I am quite sure that many have thought otherwise." At Artanis' astonished look, he chuckled. "The Bosmer ability to appear older - or younger - than they really are." He shook his head, all seriousness once more. "I tell you this, Artanis Felagund, because you were there when the Jewel of Topal Bay fell. You witnessed the fighting, the surrender, the takeover, and the power that the Altmer demonstrated there." He reached over to a side table within reach of his chair and picked up a short stack of parchment. "Count Carvain of Bruma had a compilation made of the attacks on the cities of Cyrodiil by the Dominion," he told her, skimming over the pages as he spoke. "I won't go into the details, but it seems everyone of them was put to siege, except Anvil, which was the first to fall. There was resistance in each one and they all ended with the repression of the Imperial citizens and the instalment of an elven governor." At last he looked back up at Artanis. "Is the name Alfakyn familiar to you?"

The name echoed in Artanis' mind as the image of the imposing Altmer governor swam before her mind's eye, huge and monstrous as he appeared in her nightmares. It was all Artanis could do to shake her head in confirmation. Involuntarily, her left hand crept up her right arm, over the elbow, to her shoulder, and to the shell of her right ear where her hair was tucked behind the leaf-like point. "He...he..." She stuttered as her body shook at the memory.

Count Indarys' eyes immediately narrowed as he watched the elfling struggle for words, a horrible idea playing out unwanted in his mind. "What did he do, Artanis?" He demanded.

Artanis shook her head and rubbed her nose with the handkerchief still clasped in her hands.

"Artanis, tell me what happened."

"He..." She choked out, "He killed Mama. He's the one who started the fire. He took her!"

The count visibly relaxed at her words, though his bright red eyes shown with sympathy. "My dear girl," he sighed. "My dear Miss Felagund, that brings us back to the matter at hand. Will you tell me what you can of the Aldmeri Dominion's attack on your home so that I may understand how to better protect the people of this city?"

Still shaking, Artanis agreed.

For most of the night, the two elves went over the Aldmeri Dominion and their attack on Leyawiin and its aftermath. It wasn't until long after Artanis had finished speaking and they'd sat in silence a while that an idea occurred to her. When she voiced it to the count, he mulled it over. At last, he spoke, "The people won't like it, especially those of them who are prepared to die rather than see the Aldmeri Dominion enter here." Artanis' eyes dropped to her lap, to see her hands unconsciously wringing the handkerchief. "However, I believe it may work. Not everyone will make it out," he told her a moment later.

"I know," Artanis answered, forcing her hands to drop the piece of cloth.

Count Gervon stood up, then. "I must go and speak with Captain Lux and the Watch. Feel free to stay here, if you wish."

Artanis didn't reply, only blinking tiredly in the Dunmer's general direction. The count quickly left the library and Artanis found herself alone. The only sound in the room besides her own breathing was the crack and snap of the fire; every time there was a particularly loud popping of wood, she flinched. It didn't take her long to fall asleep in the chair. It was warm, after all, and she was exhausted.

She slept on for a few hours, at least, before Prince Fendall of all people woke her up. It wasn't quite dawn yet and the sky beyond the few windows in the library was a deep violet. Artanis woke abruptly when Fendall shook her awake.

"Whadaya want...?" She grumbled, rubbing her eyes and glaring at the young dark elf.

Fendall's mouth was drawn and his expression tense. Artanis watched him cautiously.

"They're here," he said at last.

Artanis continued to stare at him. "Who's here?"

"The Aldmeri Dominion."

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Oh, don't you just love a good cliffhanger? As a reader...eh, as a writer...oh yes! Ya know, opinion varies, as it does wth everything. I, well, sorta wung, winged...whatever this chapter. I couldn't find anything on Cheydinhal beyond the fact that the Aldmeri Dominion did attack. I could find these things out for Leyawiin, Bravil, Anvil, and Kvatch, plus I know that they tried to get to Bruma, or at least Cloud Ruler Temple, and logically Chorral and Skingrad fell (I have a whole headcanon for that one), but Cheydinhal was tough. So, let's just pretend that I know what I'm doing._

 _And, thank God that Gervon is not like his dear old dad Farwil. How that boy ever managed to produce such a sensible guy like Gervon..._

 _Well, I can't promise to make a habit of being this quick (ever again) with chapters. This one really just blossomed under my fingertips. I guess April just seems to be my month for writing. I wrote a short oneshot to accompany chapter four, for instance, in one night (I edited the next day); it may be a little spoilerish, but let me know if you're curious to read it. Mention it in a review, or something._

 ** _Disclaimer:_** _you know the drill. This isn't mine, except OCs and interpretations, etc._

 ** _EricLightscythe:_** _thank you for reviewing. Originally I never intended for Artanis to have such a dark tale. She was just meant to be good girl gone psycho. I guess we know how she got there. I've done a great deal of reading on both the UESP and the Imperial Library on the subject of the wood elves and Valenwood. If you find frog legs and cannibalism mad, look up the Wild Hunt. I will admit, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to write Cyd's speech right or convey it properly, so I'm glad you could get the feeling of it. Shadowmere? A sign? Hmm._

 _Thank you to everyone who favorited/followed/reviewed/or just read the story. We'll see how Count Indarys' faith in Artanis' idea works out next time._


	6. Hear Ye, Hear Ye! Please Read!

**June 9th-**

 **Long time, no see! It's been a while, so I'd just explain a few things on why that is**

 **Previously, I'd typed the first five chapters in this story on my phone. However, that gets harder as my chapters get longer and they need better editing. If they get too long (7000+ or so), the note refuses to open and - there, I've practically "lost" the chapter. So I've decided to start writing from my laptop, where I'll be revising and expanding upon the previous chapters before moving on with the story. I'm hoping that it'll make things flow better. The only thing preventing me from doing that now is that I'm waiting for my new glasses to come in, which they should sometime next week. It's really one thing to write on a phone, something that can be so easily adjusted, and another to type on a computer where you have to sit back or your chest interferes with the bloody mouse pad.**

 **I thought I'd tell you all of that in case you guys were getting curious or worried or something.**

 _ ***Shameless Self Advertisement~***_

 __ **I've been writing this Hobbit/Skyrim crossover parody (yes, on my phone, but as the chapters seldom, if ever, exceed 2000+ and it's not complicated, it's much easier to handle than Infamy's Daughter) called An Unexpected Dragonslayer, featuring my Dragonborn, Leara Rose-blade, alongside the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, Gandalf the Grey, Ulfric Stormcloak, Odahviing, and a myriad of other characters from Arda, Nirn, and occasionally other places. It started out as something for my sister (which is why the humor seems kinda funny at first) but I'm on chapter fifteen and I've been wanting to put it up here. The first six chapters are already on my deviantART (Winters-Dawn1221).**

 **One more thing, and this isn't for everybody. I've been debating for a while on whether or not to put my Doctor Who reader series, Life Just Got Interesting, on here. I've finally decided that, yes, I am, so if any ladies reading this like the Eleventh Doctor, humor, and are cool with First Person reader inserts, then I'll be posting them as a series of connected one shots.**

 **I'll be taking this note down once chapter six is ready, which will be after revision, so wish me luck! I've had my PM off, but I'm going to turn it back on if anyone wants to talk about Infamy's Daughter, something else I've written, or Skyrim in general.**

 **Until later! ~Winter**


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